“No. I told no one,” she emphasized, but then tilted her head. “Except Wesley. And I know he’s kept my secret. He understood what an impossible situation I’d found myself in.”
“Because of your son.”
“Yes. And my daughter. If Helmswick’s bigamy should be made public, then our marriage will be invalid, and my Georgie will lose everything. The title, the estates, his entire inheritance. They will be illegitimate.”
Georgie. She’d named her son after the older brother she’d never met.
“But you would be free,” I said evenly.
She stared to the side, her face contorted in agony as she wrung the handkerchief in her lap, her words emerging as barely a whisper. “How can I sacrifice their futures for my own happiness?”
“Was your childhood so awful?”
She turned to blink at me in confusion. “What? No, I had a lovely childhood.”
“And yet you were illegitimate.”
“That was different. The duke claimed us.”
“And yet everyone still knew the truth.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn’t.
“The truth is it was not the nature of your birth that marked your life, but the fact that those gathered closest around you loved you. Even the duke. He loved you, did he not?”
“Yes, like his own.”
“And your children will still be loved no matter the truth of your marriage to Helmswick, will they not?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then that is what is most important. I know we are reared to revere the titles and wealth of our ancestors, but whether he is a future earl or not, Georgie will never go without.”
Her brow furrowed as she contemplated this.
“I know I am oversimplifying the matter. I know this is not an easy decision. But I do not think it is quite so hopeless.”
“But it is,” she gasped. “For the proof is destroyed. John saw to that.” She shook her head at the futility of it all. “I know Helmswick. He will only use this to force me to do as he wishes. And when he discovers Renton is dead, he’ll immediately realize the truth about what happened.” She sank her head in her hands. “Now he holds even more power.”
“Perhaps the written proof is destroyed. But that does not mean there are not witnesses. Two, in fact. And I do believe the weight that your father as a duke can bring to bear on the matter is greater than that of an earl.”
She looked up, her eyes staring blindly at the spare altar at the front of the chapel.
“But only should you choose to invalidate the marriage. If you choose to stay, then you know better than I what you will face from Helmswick.” I sighed, tipping my head back to gaze at the ceiling high above. “Of course, if Lord John kills him then I suppose this discussion has been for naught.”
Her head whipped toward me in astonishment. “What?!”
I’d forgotten she wasn’t in the guardroom earlier when nearly everyone else had been gathered there. “Lord John stopped Helmswick’s carriage on the drive and forced him into the woods. The men are searching for them now. Your brother Henry said there was a trail leading through those woods to the abbey ruins, so we think perhaps Lord John plans to take him to the crypt where he killed Renton.”
Her eyes were wide and her mouth slack with shock, as if she couldn’t believe what I was saying. Then she sat forward suddenly, her hand pressed to her chest as it heaved in and out.
I clutched her arm. “You know something,” I guessed. “What is it? Is he taking him somewhere else? Where? What do you know?” I shook her, but she still didn’t respond. “Eleanor, if your brother kills Helmswick . . .” I pleaded.
She inhaled a shuddering breath, and I knew I didn’t need to finish that sentence. “Why would he take him to the crypt?” she muttered in confusion. “Isn’t that too obvious? If he didn’t want to be caught until the deed was done, wouldn’t he take him somewhere else?”
She was right. I should have recognized it sooner, but the trail he was leading Helmswick toward went to the abbey. “Then where?” I searched her stricken blue eyes. “You must have some idea.”
“There’s a large lochan. It’s not quite big enough to be considered a true loch. It lies along that path Lord John is leading him toward, but in the opposite direction. Though it’s some distance on foot.”
Hope surged within me. Then maybe we were not yet too late.
This thought seemed to occur to her as well, for she jumped to her feet. “The road to the village parallels the trail for some distance. If we take a carriage, we just might be able to beat them there.” She lifted her skirts, bustling down the aisle before me as I followed.
Bree glanced up as we hurried past, and I beckoned her to follow. The men were gone, off searching in the wrong direction. All save one.
“Where’s Marsdale?” I panted as we pattered down the stairs.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, glancing over her shoulder. When I caught up with her at the bottom, she added breathlessly, “I’m afraid I told him something that upset him.”
Somehow I didn’t think that it was that she’d decided to restate her vows to Helmswick.
My eyes dipped to the ruching of her gown over her abdomen. “You’re carrying his child.”
Her steps faltered as she turned to stare at me in shock. “You truly don’t miss anything, do you?” she muttered before resuming her long strides. It had not exactly been a compliment.
I shrugged. “It was a reasonable assumption.”
We burst into the guardroom where Tait stood conferring with Mr. Hislop, the hall porter. “Tait, have the phaeton brought around immediately, and then I need my redingote.” She flicked a glance at me still wearing her cloak, and then Bree. “One for the maid as well.”
Quicker than I thought possible, the phaeton came barreling up into the portico, and Tait and the groom helped us to climb up onto our seats. However, rather than mount up beside us, the young groom passed Eleanor the ribbons.
“You’re going to drive?” I asked, knowing that ladies sometimes did so, but I’d yet to ride with one who did.
“You didn’t think bed sport was the only scandalous thing we Kerr women exceled at, did you?” she quipped. Then she flicked the reins and sent the horses charging out of the portico and down the drive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I soon abandoned the effort to keep my hood over my head, instead gripping the seat to keep myself from being jounced out of the carriage. Not that Eleanor was a poor driver. No, indeed. She seemed to be perfectly competent, handling the ribbons with an expert’s ease. However, the road was rough in patches, and clearly not meant to be taken at such speeds. But time being of the essence, I was not about to tell her to slow down, even if my ribs and shoulder protested the treatment they were receiving.
The icy wind lashed my cheeks and tugged strands of my hair from their pins to whip them around my face. I could almost hear Bree audibly groaning behind me at the tangled state of my tresses, but one glance over my shoulder showed that if she had groaned at all, it was from fear for her life, not from my coiffure. When the road smoothed for a short distance, I released my hold on the seat to pull my right arm from its sling, the better to steady myself with both arms.
We hurtled past the cottages, and the window curtain Colum peered from behind, through the woodlands and past the place where Lord John had coaxed Helmswick from his carriage. Blackbirds and bullfinches scattered from our path, and one daring squirrel narrowly missed being struck by the phaeton’s wheels as it darted in front of us. I trusted Eleanor knew where to stop to reach the second trailhead, the one she claimed led down to the lochan. Though at this speed, I feared we would easily overshoot it.
I was wrong. At a curve in the road, she pulled up on the reins, drawing the horses to a stop near a stand of birch trees. “The t
rail is just over this way,” she declared as she climbed down, dropping lightly to her feet.
Bree scrambled out of the seat behind mine, and came forward to help me alight. Once my feet were firmly on the ground, I ordered her to stay with the horses.
She scowled at me as Eleanor handed her the ribbons. “Are ye sure that’s wise, m’lady?”
“Someone has to keep them settled,” I replied, turning to follow Eleanor into the woods. “We may have need of them,” I called back over my shoulder.
“Aye. I only hope it’s no’ for you,” I heard her retort as I passed beyond hearing.
I was less worried about my own safety than the fact we might be too late to stop Lord John. Perhaps that was foolish given the fact he’d almost certainly been the one to push me down the stairs, but with Eleanor at my side, I didn’t think he would try to hurt me. Not when it would gain him nothing. Even so, I wished I’d had time to grab my Hewson percussion pistol from my bedchamber.
The trail was overgrown in spots, and riddled with tree roots and fallen twigs crunching beneath our feet, so we had to watch our steps as we hurried forward. Our passing stirred the soil and decaying leaves, adding an earthy undernote to the sharp air. Up ahead, I could see the silvery trunks began to thin and beyond, the gray sky. When she reached the edge of the forest, Eleanor stumbled to a stop, and I soon understood why.
Below us, in a small basin, shimmered the waters of the lochan. Its dark surface rippled and undulated, as if strange currents ebbed and flowed within its icy depths. It was at least three times the size of Sunlaws Castle, and surrounded by a reedy marsh through which a small warped dock jutted out into its far western end.
It was on this dilapidated piece of wood that three men congregated. Helmswick tottered at the edge, his hand raised in either surrender or supplication, while Lord John stood a short distance away. Based on the arm thrust out in the earl’s direction, and that of Helmswick’s stance, I surmised he must be pointing a gun at him, but his body was turned outward, his head twisted to yell at the man behind him. It was Marsdale, easily recognizable, even from behind, by his height and his head of dark hair.
Eleanor and I set off around the lochan, picking our way through the dead, overgrown grass. Who spied us first, I didn’t know, but by the time we’d come close enough to hear their voices, they were all aware of our presence.
“Now see what you’ve done?” Lord John demanded of Marsdale, his face a contorted mask of rage and anguish. “I don’t want them to witness this. Why couldn’t you simply have let me do what needed to be done?”
Marsdale glanced back at us as we approached, holding out his arms wide, as if to shield or prevent us from moving any closer. “Stay back. He’s lost his mind.”
“No, I have not,” he snapped back, gesturing so sharply with the hand holding the pistol, I feared it might go off.
Helmswick flinched, his arms waving, evidently fearing the same thing. “Stop, stop!”
“It’s perfectly clear what I must do,” Lord John bit out. “Just get them out of here, so I can do it.”
“No!” Eleanor cried, grabbing on to Marsdale’s torso to peer over his shoulder. “John, please. Don’t do this,” she begged.
“Don’t you see, Nell? You’ll be free, truly free. No more lying, philandering, hypocritical husband.” He punctuated each word with a jab.
“Yes, but I don’t want that.” Her voice wobbled. “Not at the expense of losing you.”
He shook his head. “I’m already lost. Damned for murdering Renton. What’s one more?”
“But you didn’t intend to kill Renton, did you?” I stepped forward to ask, only to have Marsdale reach out to latch his hand around my wrist, preventing me from going any further. “You never meant for that to happen. Colum Brunton told you Renton intended to sneak into the castle through the tunnel and accost your sister, but you couldn’t let him do that. So you donned a monk’s robe and went down there to intercept him, to scare him.”
He stared at me with tormented eyes, his face pale with remembrance and perhaps shock that I knew so much. “He wasn’t frightened, even for a second. I tried to reason with him, to plead with him not to harm Nell and her children. That they were as innocent as his sister in all of this. But he wouldn’t listen.” He shook his head. “He shouldered past me, slamming me into the tunnel wall. I couldn’t let him get to them. So I h-hit him with the mace.” His voice quavered and his arm began to drop. “I hadn’t meant to use it. I-I only brought it as a precaution. And I certainly hadn’t meant to kill him, but he wouldn’t stop. Why couldn’t he just have stopped?!”
“Because he was a greedy bastard,” Helmswick sneered, and I could have cursed roundly at him for his stupidity. Marsdale did.
Recalled to his presence and his plans for him, Lord John lifted the pistol again and steadied it. “And you aren’t? Collecting wives and mistresses as if you have every right. I was a fool to destroy that parish register, to conceal your malicious crime. Four years ago you would have been hung for what you’ve done.”
Given the fact that he was an earl, and the added complication that the seat of his earldom lay in Scotland where such laws were less straightforward, that was unlikely, but I wasn’t about to point that out to him. Not now.
“The registry may be gone, but there are witnesses,” I said. “Witnesses who have agreed to testify.” At least, I hoped that was the case. Presumably Mr. Warren’s loyalty could be swayed. “As long as that is what Eleanor wants.”
Helmswick and Lord John both turned to Eleanor, who continued to cling to Marsdale’s shoulder, her eyes glistening with tears.
“But the scandal,” Lord John murmured. “And Georgie’s inheritance.”
“Yes, think of the scandal,” Helmswick reiterated.
To which Marsdale and I both shrieked at him to shut his gob. Did he want to be killed?
I lifted my hands, imploring Lord John. “It could be argued that your murder of Renton was justified. He was technically housebreaking.” A capital offense. “And he physically assaulted you and threatened harm to your loved ones. Although it would have been better for all had you simply confessed to hitting him rather than attempting to conceal the crime by hiding the body in the crypt,” I couldn’t resist adding.
“I couldn’t,” he protested. “Not without revealing Helmswick’s bigamy, and consequently that Nell’s marriage to him was illegitimate.” He glowered. “Besides which, he would have rotted away without discovery had Ned not decided to host that ridiculous ghost tour.”
I frowned. For all that he seemed to regret killing the man, he certainly wasn’t showing the proper amount of remorse for concealing it and setting off the chain of events that followed.
“Regardless, the first murder might be mitigated,” I reiterated, bringing him back to my point. “But if you kill Helmswick here and now, it will be in cold blood. There is no defense. And your family members will have to watch you be hung.” I could see in his eyes that he had not considered that ramification. “Is that what you want? To make Eleanor suffer such a thing?”
He glanced at his sister, who was openly weeping now and shaking her head.
“Please, John. Don’t do it. Not for me. Never for me.”
His brow furrowed in pain, and he closed his eyes, tipping his head back to the leaden sky. I worried for a moment that he wouldn’t listen. That he was too determined to do this to ever pull back now. But then his arm abruptly dropped, and his shoulders slumped, as if in defeat.
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding, but I remained vigilant until he shuffled across the creaking boards of the dock, and held the pistol out to me with the grip facing out. His eyes, stark with shadows, searched mine as I reached up to take it from him. “It was me. On the stairs,” he clarified, and I felt a sharp pang in my chest at the admission. “I . . . I overheard you speaking to Lady Stratford, and I th
ought you knew. I’m sorry. I regretted it the moment I did it. And I’m glad . . .” His voice broke and he swallowed before continuing on a whisper. “I’m glad there will be no lasting harm.”
I nodded once in acceptance of his apology, though it would be some time before I could forgive.
He turned as Eleanor broke away from Marsdale to throw herself into his arms. The brother and sister clung to each other as she wept in ugly, shuddering sobs. Marsdale watched as Lord John began to lead her away from the lochan, their arms intertwined, and then he turned to me.
I offered him my hand and a commiserating smile, as suffering still swirled in the depths of his eyes. “Thanks to God you got here when you did. How did you know where he’d gone?”
“I was strolling in the woods, licking my wounds . . .” His mouth creased into a humorless smile. “When I saw him marching Helmswick down a trail with a gun pointed at his back, I decided I’d better follow.”
He’d stated it simply enough, but I understood the unspoken struggle he must have fought with himself. After all, Helmswick had betrayed the woman he loved, and unless Eleanor decided to make the earl’s crime of bigamy public, for all intents and purposes she would be forced to remain married to him. It must have been a great temptation to pretend he hadn’t seen Lord John, to allow him to carry through with his plans to kill him.
“Well, I’m grateful you did,” I told him earnestly, letting him know his quiet heroics had not gone unnoticed.
He nodded, flicking a glance sideways at Helmswick as the man carefully picked his way toward us over the worn boards. He tugged at his jacket and pushed a hand through his disheveled sandy brown locks.
However, just because Marsdale had decided not to allow his rival to be murdered, didn’t mean he wished him well. As the earl stepped behind him to pass us by, Marsdale flung his arm out, shoving him off the dock into the icy muck at the edge of the water. Helmswick howled in outrage.
I raised a hand to my mouth to stifle my shock, and then my laughter at the sight of the earl seated up to his rib cage in cold, slimy water. For the crimes he’d committed, and the pain he’d caused, I decided it was the least of what he deserved.
A Stroke of Malice Page 33
