Dying For A Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  The sound came again and Benedict banged on the door. “Theodora? Theodora, are you alright? Answer me?”

  But there was no answer.

  Benedict rattled the handle but the door was locked. “Dammit,” he cursed. “Stand back.”

  Unable to use his injured shoulder, Benedict resorted to kicking the door down.

  They ran into the room to find Theodora gasping and thrashing around on the floor. Ben ran to kneel beside her, lifting her up and finding himself horrified by the dilated wildness in her eyes. They drifted to Phoebe and the hatred he saw there quite stole his breath.

  “Should be dead,” Theodora hissed, her body beginning to convulse. “She should be dead, Oliver too ... all of them.” Her breath caught and held and Ben regarded her with revulsion as she became too still and too quiet. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, wide and glassy now, and he noticed the dark berries that lay scattered over the floor, her lips stained by them. Surely she had just been ranting as the poison took hold? Surely she couldn’t be responsible for so much death? Phoebe screamed behind him, a strange, muffled sound that took his attention. He looked back at the doorway expecting to see horror in her eyes at Theodora’s demise, but Oliver had her in fierce a grip, his arm holding her close, and a gun in his other hand.

  “You!” Ben exclaimed, his blood turning to ice in his veins as he saw the hold the man had on Phoebe. His heart raced as his mind tried to devise a way to get her safe. Good God, hadn’t they endured enough? “Oliver, let Phoebe go. You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “No, Ben, you’re not,” Oliver said, his expression apologetic. “And I’m truly sorry about that but there’s no other choice now. Pity I didn’t spend more time practising with this little beauty eh?” he added, waving the gun in the air. “A clean shot the other night would have made life much simpler.” Phoebe squealed in alarm and tried to elbow him but he just tightened his hold on her. “Now, now, love,” he said, his voice soothing. “We’re going on a little trip you and I.”

  “Why Theodora?” Benedict demanded, forcing Oliver’s attention back to him and praying he could delay him enough for the runners to arrive or someone to discover them.

  Oliver snorted with amusement and Benedict was horrified to see the glittering look in his eyes. The man was insane, he had to be. “Well she saw me in the woods the other night for one,” he said, shaking his head with a frustrated expression. “Careless of me but I’d been so damn close. How is the arm by the way?” he added with a solicitous air.

  “Fine,” Ben gritted out. “If that’s true, why didn’t she tell anyone it was you that tried to kill me?”

  “Oh because Theodora had rather more permanent plans that would rid her of two rather large problems.”

  Benedict stared at him aghast as he realised that Phoebe had been right all along.

  “You knew I couldn’t have killed John, you fool!” Oliver sneered in disgust. “Though I would have got around to it in the end I was planning on giving him another year yet, let the fuss die down a little. But when I came back and found the fellow dead I couldn’t have been more surprised. Pleased too ... at first anyway.”

  Phoebe wriggled in his grasp and he pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple. “Hush, Phoebe, there’s a good girl.”

  Ben felt his heart clench as Phoebe’s eyes widened with horror.

  “Don’t hurt her, Oliver,” he begged.

  “Oh, I won’t if I can help it,” Oliver replied, his tone conversational. “She’s going to marry me you see.”

  “Why weren’t you pleased in the end?” Benedict demanded in desperation, ignoring the madman’s rantings and trying to hold his attention a little longer. Please, God, let someone come and find them.

  Oliver frowned, trying to recall the thread of the conversation.

  “Oh!” he said, waving the gun as it came back to him. “That’s right, because she suspected it was me and she knew you were next. Well Theodora did so want to be a duchess, Ben,” Oliver said with a reproving tone. “So she poisoned the dessert.” He looked back at Phoebe with a rueful grin. “The perils of a sweet tooth, love. Neither of us can ever refuse dessert can we? The bitch had obviously noticed.” He shrugged. “She ate just enough herself to be convincing of course. I might even have forgiven her for that if she’d done the job with young Jessamy too; mighty convenient that would have been,” he said with a nasty grin that made Benedict’s skin prickle with fear for Phoebe.

  “But she tried to kill me and Phoebe. Poor Phoebe,” he crooned, pressing his face to hers as Phoebe flinched away in horror. “Don’t worry, my love, I made sure she knew I was doing it for you when I forced those berries down her throat.”

  Phoebe made a noise of sheer terror and Benedict glanced around the room, desperate for anything that he could use as a weapon, any help he could give her. But Oliver had her tightly held and that gun now pressed against the side of her head.

  “No foolish heroics now, Benedict,” Oliver said with a remarkably placid smile. “I shan’t kill you if you don’t force the issue. You never know, you might come about again,” he added with an encouraging wink. “No, not if I’m going to arrange it so that the runners find you here with dear Theodora. I wrote to Formby’s boss you see, all about your infatuation with Phoebe and how she was afraid of you. I went to Eton with his son, did you know that? Yes an awful commoner really but a useful connection. He’d love his son to be well in with a duke too, I’m sure. No end of good I could do him.”

  “Well you’ve thought of everything I see,” Benedict said, trying to infuse his voice with admiration. “You always were thorough. I suppose I killed Theodora to free myself of her so I can force Phoebe into marriage.”

  Oliver laughed, a dark sound that made chills shiver down Ben’s back. “Well, something like that,” Oliver admitted. “I’m sure the Bow street boys will tidy the ends up as they see fit. I expect they can be an imaginative lot when the mood takes them,” he added with a grin.

  “No doubt.” Ben stared at him, wondering how he could have been so deceived for so many years as boyhood memories of the two of them camping and fishing and sleeping out under the stars flooded his mind. “Why, Oliver?”

  The man gave a snort of derision, staring at Ben with hatred. “Because you always got everything in the end. I thought you were ruined when your father died but no, you came about again, and with such a damned smug air about you. The whole damned family, all of them, all looking down their noses at me. I hated them all!”

  “But that’s not true, Oliver,” Benedict protested. “You were loved, we all loved you. You were always welcomed and feted, far more than I ever was!”

  “Rubbish,” Oliver snapped, his eyes blazing with fury. “Perhaps after you’d decided to act the martyr to keep the family’s morality intact. But I was only ever light entertainment, always trailing in your wake. Someone to give you all a laugh, never to be taken seriously.”

  “You were my friend, Oliver, my brother.”

  The look Oliver returned at that was startling in the depth of loathing he saw there but the man said nothing, just turned back to Phoebe with an unpleasant smile.

  “Well then, we can’t stand around here chatting, can we love?” he asked Phoebe, that unsettling glittering look returning to his eyes.

  “Where are you taking her?” Ben demanded.

  “Don’t be tedious, Ben,” Oliver said, his face changing once more with shocking suddenness, cold-eyed and furious again now. “Turn around like a good fellow and perhaps you and Phoebe will get out of this alive.”

  Benedict hesitated for just a moment before lunging forward and trying to grab Oliver’s arm. But he’d been too far away and the man was fast. The next thing he knew, blinding pain exploded behind his eyes and the world went dark.

  Chapter 27

  For I had rather owner be,

  Of thee one hour, than all else ever - John Donne

  Phoebe broke free with a scream as Oliver lashed ou
t with the gun and she ran to where Benedict had fallen. There was a massive lump on his head and he was out cold but she was overjoyed to hear his heart thudding strong and even beneath her ear.

  She turned, intending to tell him exactly what she thought of him when she saw his hand swipe towards her and knew she was too late ...

  Phoebe awoke to a sickening pain in her head which was not helped in the slightest by the jolting of the carriage she was being conveyed in. They were clearly moving at breakneck speed and she cursed inwardly as she was jolted again and her head throbbed so hard she wanted to vomit. This however was not an option as she was gagged and bound and the windows of the carriage obscured so she had no notion of where she was going to. She could however take a guess.

  Oliver would no doubt want to remove himself from England until he was certain that Benedict had been convicted for his crimes. That would leave only poor little Jessamy to stand between him and everything he wanted. He would go to America, just as he had obviously been planning to do from the start.

  She shivered as she remembered the maniacal look in his eyes. She had been right that evening on the terrace. Cursing herself she wished she’d tried harder to convince Benedict of how she’d felt that night. But she’d even found it hard to convince herself in the times she’d met him since then. He could be so perfectly charming, so sincere, and yet underneath it all he truly was a monster.

  Real fear prickled under her skin and she felt her heart pick up, panic clawing at her throat. She fought against the gag, needing more air and feeling as though she would pass out. That she couldn’t afford.

  It took a great effort of will to calm herself but if Phoebe was known for anything, it was being stubborn as a mule. Well she was damned if she would allow Oliver to ruin her and Ben’s lives. She was sickened by what had happened to Miss Pinchbeck but the truth was the woman had tried to kill her. That being the case she felt little guilt in realising her death had freed Benedict. They could marry now with no impediment. At least, they could once the small hindrances of her escaping a madman and Ben escaping the hangman’s noose had been dealt with.

  A welcome burst of rage flooded her veins and fear receded as she fed her anger. Oliver had killed two men and a woman, another man had died as a result of his actions, and she and Jessamy had almost lost their lives. If Oliver’s plan worked, Ben and Jessamy would surely follow and sooner or later her too. For only a madman could believe she would marry him and say nothing of what had happened. Well maybe he truly was insane but there were bursts enough of sanity when he would realise that she was a liability. She had little doubt what her end would be, the only variant would be how and when she reached it. Looking at it that way she knew she had nothing to lose. And everything to gain.

  ***

  Benedict groaned as rough hands shook him, one slapping his face none too gently as an urgent voice demanded he wake up.

  He forced his eyes open, wincing as the too bright daylight worsened the pain.

  “Formby,” he croaked, recognising at last the concerned face that was bending over him.

  “Get up, get up, man,” Formby urged him, putting his arm under Ben’s and forcing him to his feet.

  “Christ, my head,” Benedict groaned as he fought to remember what the devil had happened.

  “Lad, you need to get out of here and fast,” Formby said, sounding more serious than Benedict had ever heard him. He looked around as a terrible feeling grew in his chest and his eyes fell upon Theodora’s lifeless body.

  “Oh God,” he whispered. “Phoebe!” He clutched at Formby’s arm as earlier events came back to him in all their stark clarity. “It’s Oliver!” he explained, heading for the door. “Oliver killed them all, except for John and the poisoning the other night, that was Theodora so he killed her too and now he has Phoebe! We must get her back.”

  Formby stilled him, his hand clutching his arm with purposeful force. “Alright, but I tell you now there are three more runners searching this house with a warrant for your arrest. My superior is among them and he don’t care too much for details, my Lord. He finds you here and a dead body and you’ll swing ‘cause it’s nice and tidy. Less paperwork you see.”

  Ben swallowed and gave a taut nod. “Very well, what then?”

  Formby gave a nod towards the window. “Any good at climbing?”

  “I’ll manage,” he replied, striding to the window with a grim set to his jaw.

  “Good man.” Formby replied with humourless smile. They both stilled as a shout was heard along the corridor but the sound faded away as footsteps retreated. “Where will this Oliver chap run to then?” Formby asked, his voice low as Ben slid the window open and looked out.

  “He was talking about going to America,” Ben said, fury and terror in his heart as he imagined Phoebe in that man’s hands. By God he’d kill him. “He proposed to Phoebe and asked her to go with him. Now she’s being taken by force.”

  “America!” the man exclaimed. “Well we can’t be having that. Where would he sail from?”

  “Dover,” Ben replied, certain that this must be where Oliver was headed. “It’s a good three hour trip and he’ll have had to put Phoebe in a carriage. I don’t know how long I’ve been out but on horseback I may have a chance to catch up with him. In any case he’ll need to hang tight until the boat it ready to sail. We’ll need to search everywhere in and around the docks but failing that you can get him as he boards.”

  “If we have evidence to hold him,” Formby replied. To Ben’s relief the man didn’t spell out the fact that if Phoebe wasn’t around to testify it would be Ben’s word against Oliver’s. “Right you are then.” Formby said, his expression decisive. “You get out and round to the stables. I’ll hold on here and make sure no one looks your way. Once you’re clear I’ll try and get them to see what’s really going on and we’ll be right behind you.”

  “Thank you, Formby,” Benedict said, with real gratitude. “I’ll not forget this.”

  “You’d best not, damn you,” Formby replied with a crooked smile. “This could cost me my job. Now be away with you.”

  Benedict didn’t need telling twice and swung himself out of the window.

  As an adventurous boy, Benedict had climbed out of many of the windows of Grizedale and shimmied down drainpipes. The fact that many of these adventures had been shared with Oliver wasn’t lost on him. The man he was now, however, was a great deal bigger, heavier and more cumbersome than the lithe little boy he’d once been.

  He experienced a moment of sheer panic as a wrought iron railing of a Juliet balcony bent and buckled with a shriek of tortured metal and threatened to throw him the considerable distance to the ground. But it held long enough for him to move on and it was with a vast amount of relief that he hit the ground. With terra firma once more beneath his feet he cast a furtive glance around and began to run for the stables.

  ***

  By the time the carriage finally came to a halt Phoebe had been jolted black and blue and her head was throbbing with dull insistence. She felt nauseous and exhausted, her recent illness having robbed her of any reserves of energy. So it was little effort to pretend that she was still unconscious as her captor walked outside, presumably to remove her from the carriage.

  In the last hour of her interminable journey she had noticed the noise around her increasing and she knew Oliver must have brought her to the busy sea port of Dover as she imagined he would have. The raucous cries of sea gulls shrieked overhead, stabbing at her tender brain and adding to the general cacophony of noise and chaos that attended any port in the world.

  She heard men’s voices talking low and urgent outside the carriage and strained to try and hear what they were saying.

  “All you have to do is help me get her aboard, dammit. I’ve paid you well enough for a simple task, don’t you dare back out now.”

  “No, my Lord, indeed not,” said an anxious voice. “Only I thought you said she was your fiancée. I didn’t know this was an ab
duction did I? I mean that’s another matter ain’t it,” the man said, his voice reasonable. “Tis against the law, my Lord and I’m risking a deal more than just getting an unmarried lady put in your cabin.”

  “Very well,” Oliver replied, his voice increasingly impatient. “I’ll double your price but that will include a place to keep her quiet until we’re ready to board.”

  “Done,” the man said, sounding pleased with the arrangement. “I’ve got a little place, just around the corner. A bit out o’ the way but still close to the docks an’ that suits you nice I reckon.”

  Oliver nodded. “Show me the way.”

  The carriage rocked as the two men climbed aboard and they were once again in motion, albeit a lot slower this time as the carriage negotiated the busy, cobbled streets behind the docks.

  Phoebe strained her ears, trying to find anything that could help to orientate her but she felt too ill and too tired by now and nothing obvious, like church bells could be discerned.

  A short time later the carriage stopped once more and this time the carriage door did open. Phoebe laid still and limp though it was hard to disguise her disgust as Oliver hauled her into his arms and out of the carriage. It seemed very bright after the darkness of the closed conveyance but she cracked her eyelids a little to try and get some idea of her surroundings.

  They seemed to be at the end of a wide road and surrounded by warehouses, but here, at the very end of the road stood a small, single storey brick building, all by itself with the larger buildings looming about it with a menacing air. It had the look of a disused office with one tiny window.

  Everywhere lining the filthy street there were empty crates and rubbish, debris from the docks, all piled about in a careless manner.