by Cheryl Bolen
What if his physical limitations were borne from the need to have someone make a cake of themselves over him? It had been two decades since a woman—other than his silly daughter who coddled cats—had shown him love. The need for love between a man and woman was as elemental as the need to draw breath. At least, that’s what Dot now believed, now that she’d fallen in love with Forrester.
Even her father’s craving for brandy and port could merely be filling his loneliness. Dot felt guilty she had not been more understanding. Their relationship was closer than that of most fathers and daughters, but now that Forrester had come into her life, she understood there were different kinds of love, and her father’s love for his daughter was no replacement for loving a woman and being loved by a woman.
Even as the play—Sheridan’s School for Scandal—started, her father and Mrs. Blankenship showed more interest in each other than in the actors upon the stage. It did not escape Dot’s notice when her father drew Mrs. Blankenship’s hand into his own. And he did not release it throughout the entire first act.
Although Dot was exceedingly happy for her father, his intimacy with Mrs. Blankenship made her miss Forrester even more.
At intermission, a liveried young man entered their box. “Is Miss Dorothea Pankhurst here?” he asked.
“I am.”
He handed her a note and left.
She unfolded it. It was from Forrester’s best friend, Sir Elvin.
My Dear Miss Pankhurst,
I am concerned about Lord Appleton. Please meet me in the lobby.
Sir Elvin
Her heartbeat exploded. She’d been uneasy about Forrester’s journey. What if highwaymen robbed him—or worse?
Her father and his lady love were so deep in their own conversation, they scarcely noticed she was in the same box. It took her standing and clearing her throat to capture their attention. “I’m running down to the lobby. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs she scanned over those assembled. With his height, Sir Elvin should tower above most of the assemblage. But she did not see him. She moved into the throng of unfamiliar male faces. Then she saw the chalky face of Henry Wolf.
He smiled. “Are you looking for Sir Elvin?”
“Yes.”
“He awaits you outside. Here, allow me to show you where he is.”
Her first thought was that Sir Elvin must not have the same aversion to this man as Forrester did.
Two or three very fine equipages with liveried drivers sitting upon the box lined up in front of the theatre. Was Sir Elvin in one of them? Why would he be expecting her to come to him? Was it not more gallant for him to have come to her?
“He’s just around the corner,” Mr. Wolf said.
When she saw that the side street was not illuminated as the one in front of the theatre, she became nervous. Forrester’s words came back to her as resonant as if he were standing beside her. Promise me one thing. Please do not leave your house without someone—a man—to guard you.
And here she was, leaving the theatre without her father’s protection. And at night.
An uneasy feeling creeping over her, she turned to go back to the well-lighted street, but Wolf clasped her arm so hard she winced in pain. He yanked her close and with his other hand held a sizable knife to her throat. “Make a sound and I’ll kill you.”
Chapter 20
With the knife’s point pricking her throat, her attacker forced her to a waiting phaeton and demanded that she climb up onto it. He stayed next to her as if they were stitched together, his forearm hooked around her neck. She was afraid if she moved too quickly, the knife would slice into her.
Most peculiarly, once she managed to sit on the perch, he ordered her to take up the reins and drive eastward. This maneuver, she realized, was necessitated by his need to use his own hands to hold the knife below her chin.
Horrifying thoughts cascaded over her. This evil man had chosen to come in a phaeton instead of his magnificent carriage because he wanted no witnesses, not even his own servants. Nausea rose up as if she’d ingested hemlock.
She now knew, without a doubt, this was the killer of Ellie Macintosh. He—not Sir Elvin—had written the note to lure her from the theatre. He must know of the close connection between Forrester and Sir Elvin.
But why did he want her dead?
Fear paralyzed her vocal chords. Was he one of those maniacs who took pleasure with women—then even more pleasure by snuffing the life from them?
As soon as she realized he was directing her toward the river, she was certain he was going to return to that decayed chapel where he’d murdered his last victim. The ribbons vibrated from the trembling in her hands.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she managed, her voice choked by tears. “You don’t even know me. What have I ever done to you?”
“I don’t hate you. I hate your Lord Appleton.”
Her head snapped in his direction. Moonlight diffusing through the cloudy night made his colourless face seem even more macabre. A chill spiked down her spine. “Everyone admires Lord Appleton. How could you possibly dislike him?”
“You’re right. Your Lord Appleton has always led a charmed life. He’s everybody’s friend. Except mine. He took great pleasure in competing against me—and always rubbing my nose in my inferiority. Fencing. Riding. Even mathematics. Did you know he and his friends had an unflattering name they called me—behind my back?”
“He never mentioned any such thing in my presence.”
“They referred to me as The Penguin,” he snapped viciously.
“Then why is your argument with him and not with his friends?”
“I loathe Appleton more. He didn’t think I was good enough to even introduce to his precious sister. He gave me the cut direct at Almack’s.”
“But why do you hate me?”
“Because I wish to deprive Appleton of your fortune. I want to see him grovel before me. I want him to beg me for money, beg for me to give him back the deed to his house.”
Her fortune? Did everyone in Bath know she was her father’s heiress? How she wished she had been born a pauper. “You know not Lord Appleton if you think him capable of groveling in front of anyone.”
She was on a precipice between life and death. He would undoubtedly murder her. Would he slit her throat?
How could she get away from this man? These streets to which he was directing her were as dark and empty as Bath before dawn. A pity no one could help her.
What did she have to lose? When she approached the next intersection and he instructed her to turn left, she slowed the phaeton. Then she leapt onto the street, but she lost her balance on landing and fell, her knee grinding into the cobbles. Oblivious to the pain, she sprang up and started running. Even though she tried to run faster than she ever had in her life, she resembled a cripple hobbling from a burning building.
The thud of his leap from the vehicle followed, and as fast as she tried to run, he was gaining on her. She must run to the public house she knew to be two streets over. She had to go where there were other people.
Blood pounded in her head. Her lungs felt as if they would explode from the exertion. Her legs felt as if she were plowing through mud. And her knee throbbed with every uneven step. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t outrun the killer who was on her heels.
Then she saw the light illuminating the tavern’s sign some hundred yards ahead. Her salvation.
Faster and faster she ran. Now the Crow and Anchor was only fifty yards away, then twenty, and then the vile man raced up from behind and knocked her to the street.
* * *
Appleton had left his London house before dawn. He wanted to be in Bath before dark. He wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until he saw for himself that Dot was safe. He’d tortured himself worrying about her.
He was convinced that Henry Wolf was responsible for Ellie’s death, and he was reasonably certain that he now knew why. It sickened him t
o realize that indirectly he had contributed to Ellie Macintosh’s murder. Now all the pieces of information had merged into a complete narrative.
Because of his hatred for Appleton, Henry Wolf wanted to ruin him. He must have paid Ellie handsomely to drug Appleton and see to it that he not only lost his ability to reason but also all his worldly riches.
Wolf also wanted Annie, lovely Annie from an aristocratic family, to be his bride. That sickened Appleton almost as much as worrying about Dot.
Then, to complete his fiendish plan, Wolf had to kill Ellie because she was the only one who could reveal the depths he’d sunk to in order to ruin Appleton. Wolf wouldn’t be able to count on her continuing to conceal their cheating scheme. Rightfully so. She’d already regretted her actions. Had she, perhaps, threatened to disclose his scheme to ruin Appleton?
During the long, grueling journey back to Bath, Appleton pondered Wolf’s meeting with his sisters. Could Annie’s tongue have slipped, allowing Wolf to know that her brother and Dot were investigating Ellie’s murder? One little slip to the vile man would have been enough to put Dot’s very life in jeopardy.
And I’m not there to protect her. He vowed that when he returned to Bath he would march her to the church and marry her. As soon as he revealed to the magistrates the identity of Ellie’s killer.
He hoped to God his worry was all in vain. He hoped that when he arrived at their house, Dot and her father would be enjoying a quiet game of chess.
At no time in his thirty years had he ever felt more certain of impending danger than he had since he’d left Dot. Dear, sweet, loving Dot.
It shamed him now to recall how ambivalent he’d been to all her fine attributes when he’d first met her. Now that they’d grown close, he’d come to love everything about her.
That ridiculous affinity of hers for cats he now found endearing. It was only one facet of her loving nature. She had demonstrated how well she would fit into his family. She and Annie were already like sisters. She was also a fine daughter, and she would be an excellent wife.
His chest expanded when he thought of her becoming a mother, a mother to his children. She would be a wonderful mother. He swallowed hard, his very heart aching for this to come to pass.
Please, God, allow her to be safe.
When he had offered for her, he had not then known how fortunate he would be to have her for his wife. Why did it have to take this separation, this paralyzing worry, for him to realize how very dear she had become to him? Now he knew that he could have looked the length of England, from the moors of Yorkshire to the white cliffs of Dover, and he could not have found a finer woman than Dot to wed.
He would have been bored to death with a wife who lacked intelligence. He would never have to treat Dot as one would a dimwit.
The longer he knew her, the lovelier she had become. Her dark beauty stood out from all the insipidly fair maidens in the same way a swan stands out from a flock of mallards.
He longed to pull the pins from her luxurious mane of mahogany hair and comb his fingers through it. He never tired of looking into her near-black eyes. He yearned to draw the smooth curves of her luscious body against him and kiss her senseless.
Yet with every pound of his horse’s hooves, he agonized that he’d never see her again.
I’ll kill Henry Wolf.
* * *
He raced straight to her house. The butler informed him that the Pankhursts had gone to the theatre. Even though Appleton was covered with dust and most definitely not dressed for the Theatre Royal, he hurried there. He then fairly flew up the stairs, going straight to the Appleton box, oblivious to those staring after the ill-dressed interloper.
He froze when he saw her father seated there with Mrs. Blankenship. But no Dot. “Where’s Dot?” he demanded, panic in his voice.
Mr. Pankhurst turned around, a shocked look on his face when he saw how Appleton was dressed. “I’m not quite sure. She received a note at intermission and left. She said she’d be right back.”
“But that was some time ago,” Mrs. Blankenship interjected.
Appleton’s heart felt as it would pound out of his chest. “How long?”
Mr. Pankhurst’s lips pursed. “Perhaps fifteen minutes. I assume she joined some other young people.”
“Did she say who she was meeting?” Appleton asked.
“No.”
“Do you know where she was going?”
“To the foyer.”
Appleton was sick. He hoped to God he was wrong, but he was terrified she was with Henry Wolf at this very moment. “She’s in danger. We must find her.”
Mr. Pankhurst leapt from his seat.
“You look for her in the other boxes,” Appleton barked. “I’m going back downstairs.”
He rushed to a liveried doorman, who was now the sole occupant of the lobby. “Have you seen a young woman. . .” How could he describe Dot? He had no idea what she was wearing. “She has very dark hair, and I suspect she may have left the building at intermission.”
“There was one young woman with . . . I don’t mean no disrespect. . .”
“With a bounteous bosom?” Appleton supplied, hope welling in him.
The other man grinned. “Yes, sir. That’s how I would describe the young lady.”
“Was she alone?”
“It’s hard to say. She looked as if she was looking for someone and was reluctant to leave the building, but another bloke said something to her, and she did leave.” The doorman shrugged. “I got the impression the two were not together.”
“Did he follow her?”
The doorman nodded.
“Can you describe the man?”
“All I remember is his skin was uncommonly white.”
Appleton could have fallen to knees and wept like a woman. But he could not give in to his grief. He had to find Dot.
Before it was too late.
Chapter 21
As Appleton was mounting his horse, Mr. Pankhurst came running from the theatre, Mrs. Blankenship struggling to keep up with him. “What’s going on? Why is my daughter in danger?”
“I’m afraid she’s with the killer.”
“Oh, my God!” her father cried out in an anguished voice.
Mrs. Blankenship shrieked.
“I must go,” Appleton barked. “There’s a chance he’s taken her to an abandoned church this side of the river.”
“I know it,” Mrs. Blankenship said, rushing off to summon the Pankhurst coach.
Appleton couldn’t wait. He sped off. He tore through the dark, quiet streets of Bath, and when he reached the Pulteney Bridge, he turned north and spurred on his mount. If Wolf were planning to abduct Dot, he would have had a vehicle that could accommodate at least two persons. Therefore, it would take him longer than a solo rider on a horse to get to the church—if, indeed, that was his destination.
As Appleton neared the church, his blood froze. For just outside the door, a phaeton drawn by a single horse had been tied to a tree.
Please, God, don’t let me be too late.
He leapt from his horse and raced toward the church’s weathered door, flinging it open. It was as dark as the inside of a coffin. “So help me, Wolf, I’m going to kill you!” he yelled into the blackness as he rushed from the vestibule into the church.
“Dot! Dot, are you unharmed?”
“Be careful, Forrester! He’s got a knife!”
Those were the sweetest words he’d ever heard. He rushed down the nave faintly illuminated from a lantern Wolf had apparently provided for himself. Dot was in one corner, and Wolf stood just before the sacristy, staring at Appleton. Dot had obviously not easily given in to the murderer.
“Get out of here, Dot!” Appleton called. Better that Wolf kill him than his innocent fiancée. Though Appleton rarely carried a weapon of any sort, because he had been traveling today, he had armed himself with a knife. As he stood at the back of the church, he unsheathed it, determined to make Wolf come to him.
&nb
sp; Dot scurried around the church’s perimeter until she reached him. But she was making no effort to leave. “Go on,” he urged her.
She sniffed. Several times. “I can’t leave you.” Sniff. Sniff. “I couldn’t live without you.”
“Nor could I without you.”
She burst into tears.
Wolf crept down the nave like a tiger on soft paws.
“Please, Dot, for me. You must leave.” If Wolf killed him, he’d turn immediately on Dot.
She inched toward the door, and Appleton almost went limp from relief. But he must be on his guard.
Though nothing in his life had prepared Appleton for hand-to-hand knife fighting, he would stay there and face this vile murderer. When they were lads he’d always had the advantage.
With each step closer the murderer came, the faster Appleton’s heart beat. He tried to stay in the darkness that shrouded the rear wall. If he moved toward Wolf, the lantern’s light would make him an easier target.
Though Wolf wasn’t a large man, as he stealthily moved toward Appleton, he seemed far bulker than ever Appleton remembered him. So many thoughts flashed through Appleton’s brain. What if the wealthy man’s purse had procured for him skilled teachers in the art of pugilism? Or had a superior fencing master instructed him how to swiftly deflect his opponent and go in for the kill?
When no more than a dozen feet separated them, Appleton eyed Wolf’s stomach and hurled his knife at the wide target.
Wolf yelped in pain as he sank to the floor, but he still managed to bring his arm over his head to pitch his knife at Appleton.
Appleton ducked. Steel collided with stone. Thank God Dot was no longer standing behind him.
The thundering sound of horse hooves sounded, quickly followed by the church’s door slamming open. “Thank God you’re unharmed,” Mr. Pankhurst said to his daughter. Dot must have stayed in the vestibule.
Still watching the man on the floor, Appleton shifted his gaze enough to see Pankhurst’s coachman. His legs planted, the coachman aimed a musket at Wolf.
