Touched by Fire

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  “’Allo there, mate.” John Roberts emerged from the woods like an utter sloven, his hat dirty and misshapen, his poor-quality muslin shirt with a hole in one sleeve. Disgraceful. And when Cornelius recovered enough to find his tongue, he would tell the draggle-tail so. Well, perhaps later. He took a step backward, wanting nothing more than to find the safety of St. George.

  “Oy, now you’re to be running away?” The big man followed him inside, and pulled a pistol—a very large pistol, one of those blunderbuss things—from behind his back. “Or maybe you’re just bumbling in there to find your pocketbook. You didn’t think I’d forget about me money, did you?”

  Cornelius Twizzlerot had done many rather unscrupulous things, but he hated lowering himself to dealing directly with ruffians. As he stared into the hardened eyes of Mr. Roberts, he knew exactly why he had avoided such tagrag scoundrels.

  Quite simply, he didn’t want to die.

  Colin felt every rut in the road, every clod of dirt the wheels ran over, and every deuced turn. Sarah refused to look at him, which in itself was a good thing, considering her eyes held nothing but disdain. His stomach felt sick at the thought of the rest of the world knowing what the old earl had known. Treating him as the old earl had done. Sarah trusted in him, she believed in him. Surely it was more important to protect her, to protect him, than to worry about Twizzlerot. He could just pay the man off and send him on his way. It seemed a fine solution. Wasn’t it?

  If Sarah knew all the facts, knew what he was protecting, she would not be so quick to judge him. Perhaps she would judge him. Judge the son of Jack Cady. That’s what he feared most of all. He pulled at his cravat, tugging until the stiff linen hung limply around his neck.

  Nancy looked over at him, her eyes shooting daggers. The driver took a particularly sharp turn and Colin’s head rapped against the carriage. He deserved every bump and bruise that he received.

  If the truth were revealed, they would all suffer. The carriage bounced once more and he wanted to retch.

  Yet he’d lived his life as the son of a murdering bastard, and if he turned his back now, walked away from St. George, he couldn’t live with himself.

  So be it. Colin held up his hands in defeat and then rapped on the ceiling. “Driver, turn back.”

  Sarah looked at him, not affectionately, but at least her gaze held respect. When she knew the truth, when she left him, that would be cold comfort, but it was something.

  “The driver’s name is Nicholas,” Sarah said.

  Colin rapped once more. “Nicholas, turn back.” He looked at Sarah, needing to redeem himself again. “I’ll take care of the man but it won’t be pleasant.”

  She met his eyes. “I don’t care.”

  And the carriage turned around.

  Cornelius tried to stand his ground, but the rumbustious man terrified him, and his knees began to quake. Where were all the grimy children? Where was Miss Pritchard? Death was looking him in the eyes, and he was alone. Desperately he tried to reason before he suffered the embarrassing fate of soiling his worst pair of trousers. “You didn’t do what I asked. I would have paid you if the woman were dead. But she was just here, healthy, hearty, looking completely alive. Nothing dead about her at all.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Cornelius bowed and pushed his spectacles up his sweat-dampened nose. “Twizzlerot, Cornelius Twizzlerot at your service.”

  Mr. Roberts gestured toward the office. “Why don’t you find that money that you owe me and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “Pardon, sir, but perhaps you should put your weapon away. This is a foundling home for children.”

  The base-brained man looked about the empty room, heard the sound of voices outside, children at play, and shook his head slowly. “A foundling home’s a sweet place to be arranging a murder. Miss Banks or yours, if you don’t get me money.”

  Oh, my. This was going to be difficult. “There is a slight problem. If you’ll be kind enough to return tomorrow, I could gather the necessary funds that you need. We had to feed the children, you know, and perhaps your monies were put to good use, feeding their hungry, little mouths.”

  “I don’t care about no mewlin’ brats. Do you have the blunt or not?”

  Cornelius took his kerchief and wiped his brow. He should have worn his pantaloons today. If a man is going to die, he should at least look his best. “You’re going to kill me if I don’t, aren’t you?”

  Unfortunately, Mr. Roberts only laughed.

  Colin dared not look back. He’d gathered his courage, and he would follow through. Instead he trampled up the walk, focusing on the door. He raised his hand to knock, but the scene in the window caught his eye.

  John Roberts, holding a gun on Mr. Twizzlerot.

  He stood there, frozen, thinking very carefully. There was the answer to all his problems, right in front of his eyes. Roberts would kill Twizzlerot, Colin would kill Roberts, and the whole mess would be over and Colin would be the hero.

  Tied things up nicely, didn’t it?

  Twizzlerot had gotten himself into the mess, had tried to get Sarah killed, and this was nothing more than he deserved. And if the timing had been different, Colin would have been too late anyway. Roberts looked angry enough to spit, and Colin believed that by the time he counted to three, Twizzlerot would be dead.

  And Colin would be free.

  But then Mr. Twizzlerot turned his rat-like eyes in Colin’s direction, filled with such pleading, such utter fear, that Colin couldn’t ignore it.

  Damn.

  He drew his weapon, clicked the hammer to half-cock and shoved the door open. Roberts turned, grinning when he saw Colin in the doorway. As if he were glad to see him. God, was everyone an idiot?

  Well, there were some things that Colin could never forgive. Hurting Sarah was first and foremost among them. He fired.

  Roberts crashed to the ground and Twizzlerot, damn his miserable cowardly hide, fell to his knees at Colin’s feet, rubbing and polishing Colin’s boots. Colin kicked at the man. “Get up, for God’s sake.”

  The man was blubbering like a baby. “Lord Haverwood, you saved my life.”

  Sarah rushed inside and came to a halt when she noticed the body of Mr. Roberts prominently displayed in the middle of the wooden floor. She stared at him, then stared at Colin, and then walked to where the body lay. She pulled up her skirts and with a great show of strength, kicked the dead man. Once, twice, three times.

  Finally satisfied, she stood next to Colin and slipped her hand in his. Perhaps everything would work out after all.

  Colin turned his attention to Twizzlerot. “What am I going to do with you?” The man had the survival instincts of a shipboard rat.

  Sarah glared at the headmaster. “You should cart him off to Australia.”

  The stupid man smirked. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  Colin raised his pistol, so very tempted. “The prospect of your death is gaining in appeal every time you open your mouth.”

  But the threat was too late. Sarah, his quick-thinking Sarah, was eyeing Colin with interest, as if she knew his secrets. She turned to Twizzlerot and then looked back at Colin. “Colin?”

  “We’ll talk later, Sarah.”

  She nodded uncertainly, but there was trust in her eyes. He had never known someone to have such trust in him, such faith. How could he not help but love her?

  “Australia is a fine place for the man, I think.”

  Sarah began to smile, and Twizzlerot blustered, his thin face marked with distress. “I’ll tell your story to the newspapers.”

  Her gaze shot toward the weasel, her face red with anger. “You will not! If you continue to bother my husband, I’ll see you dead myself. My husband has no secrets from me.”

  Such faith she had in him, such completely undeserved faith.

  Twizzlerot wheezed. “And what about the rest of the world? What sort of scandal would there be if the rest of the world came to know exactly who his lord
ship is?”

  “Scandal?” Sarah scoffed and paced around Robert’s body. “Sir, I was born and raised in scandal, I have waded through it all my life. If you believe my husband would be swayed by the prospect of long-gone history, you don’t know him very well.”

  Colin looked at her with quiet admiration. Even when she was lying through her teeth, he loved her so completely. In this, he would not disappoint her.

  Colin turned to Twizzlerot and a great weight lifted from his shoulders. “You’re going to Australia, you half-witted tatzelworm. The magistrate can escort you to Dover. If I pay enough, they’ll be no questions for anyone. But listen carefully. If my wife gets hurt from anything you say, I’ll see you dead. It doesn’t matter where you end up, I’ll not have her hurt. Do you understand?”

  The thin man scuffed his shoes against the wooden floor. “I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered, taking a letter from his pocket. He met Colin’s gaze, foolishly defiant. “I’ve got proof.”

  Colin’s patience ended and he cracked the man in the jaw with his pistol. Twizzlerot crumpled to the ground. Colin picked up the paper, stuffed it in his pocket and called for Miss Pritchard.

  But there was one thing in his life he had done right. He turned to Sarah. “Do you know I love you very much?”

  “Yes, I do, but I still want an explanation.”

  Colin winced. “Of course.”

  Miss Pritchard fetched the magistrate while Colin watched over Twizzlerot. The magistrate didn’t ask any questions at all. Of course, the purse of coins seemed to lighten his spirits considerably and he bundled Twizzlerot into his cart and drove away a happy man.

  It was rather later by the time they arrived at Rosemont and thank God, Sarah didn’t press him immediately. She bundled Nancy upstairs, asking Giles for tea. Colin went to his study and stared at the yellowed envelope that could only mean trouble. One more opportunity for the earl to mock Colin from beyond the grave.

  He poured himself a long drink of port and settled into his chair. For some time he simply looked at the outside, the awkward handwriting that had belonged to the earl. The man was a bastard, but a bastard ranked one step above a murderer and having a murderer for a father was one step above being alone. At one time, Colin would have chosen to live the solitary life of a DragonSlayer. But now Sarah had taught him too much and he had learned too well. He didn’t want to contemplate a future alone.

  He turned the letter in his hands. Sarah had loved him as he was, but not since he was a boy had he considered the possibility the old earl could ever accept him as a son. He had been disappointed so many times, yet here he held a letter from his father.His father. He said the words aloud, conjuring up an image of the old earl’s wizened face and the shock of gray hair.

  Perhaps the man had experienced a change of heart.

  No.Years of the man’s curses echoed in his head. He stood, prepared to burn the bloody thing and be done with it.

  But wouldn’t he always wonder? Wouldn’t he always look back with regret, knowing the empty piece inside him would never disappear?

  Sarah had given him faith in himself. No matter the words, he would survive. Shrugging his shoulders, giving the old earl one more chance, he opened the letter and read.

  Dear Colin,

  I kept waiting to hear news of your death, but it never came. God does bless the wicked, doesn’t he? I never understood your fascination with St. George, I tried for some time, but never could. Nothing but a bunch of brats anyway. Sebastian seems to care for them, and he’s a smart man, so perhaps there’s something to it.

  But enough of that. I bet you’re married now. You were always so eager to please. I thought if you were married, it would keep you off the roads, keep you from brutalizing some poor innocents. Smart, aye? A man can do what he wants with his wife. The city of London will never know what I’ve saved them from. I always wanted to be the hero. But so did you. Bloody ironic, I’ll say. The son of Jack Cady, the hero. Not while I’m alive, which isn’t to be muchlonger. The doctors say I’m dying. I’ll wager you’re glad to see the last of me.

  I’ll say my farewells. I’ll be joining Mary in heaven. There’s a place for you with your father in hell.

  —Haverwood

  Yes, once again, Colin was wrong. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and rested the cool glass against his forehead. Silly of him to think the earl had changed. He would burn the letter and get on with his life.

  “Sir?”

  Colin sat up and looked at Giles. “Yes?”

  Giles handed him a handkerchief and Colin could only stare, confused.

  “Dust, sir. It’s getting in your eyes.” Giles turned away and straightened Colin’s desk.

  “I suppose that’s your way of telling me I need to hire you more help.” Tears, of all things. A man didn’t cry, a DragonSlayer certainly never cried. It was a sign of weakness. Colin wiped his face, and quickly dried his eyes, Giles watching him closely.

  “What? Must I blow my nose as well?”

  “No sir, you might lose some precious bit of your mind.”

  “The letter was from the earl.” And now he would destroy it. He lifted the glass from the oil lamp and held the letter over the flame until the fire caught, and then tossed it in the fireplace. He braced his arm against the mantelpiece, watching as the paper curled and blackened. Finally it was gone. He felt some sadness. Any happiness he had in his life would never come from having a father.

  “Sir, I feel I should say something.”

  “It would take a bigger man than I to rein in your tongue. What is it?”

  “The man was cock-brained. This missive was nothing more than his own form of putrid posturing, sir. You’re not to take it to heart.”

  Colin turned and narrowed his eyes. “You knew he left it, didn’t you?”

  Giles nodded. “I never read it though. The earl wanted to leave it at Rosemont. I threatened to destroy it. After Rosemont, St. George was the place closest to your heart. He didn’t trust his solicitor, thought the man charged too much for his services.” Giles rolled his eyes.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “There are times when reticence is the most appropriate action. I was trying to protect you, sir.”

  Colin was humbled by the admission, but he was no longer a boy. “I’m a grown man, Giles. I don’t need your protection.”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s a dastardly habit that I should wean myself away from.”

  Colin stared at the man, the only man who had stood by his side for so many years. He smiled gratefully. “Don’t change your behavior on my account.”

  All this time Giles had been such a fixture in the house and he never considered the man’s other life, never wondered if the man’s lonely existence rivaled his. “Why didn’t you ever have a family of your own?”

  Giles began to poke at the books on the study shelves, moving the myriad porcelain dragons like he was playing chess. All the while, avoiding an answer.

  However, now Colin was curious. “Giles?”

  The man turned slowly and lifted his hands. “Every day I’d tell myself, I’d find someone later. You needed me, sir. One morning I awoke, and the earl was dead, and you were away on the Continent, and I realized I was a fussy, old man and it was far too late.” His moustache bobbed. “Your fate was sealed then, sir. You’re all the family I’d ever had.”

  Colin had been so engrossed in his own problems he had never considered one more possibility. A bastard for a father, a murderer for a father, or a butler. Yes, one very special butler ranked high above a bastard, high above most men that he knew. Foolish of him to have missed it. “A fine bit of comfort I’ve been.”

  “If I had to pick a son of my own, he would have been just like you, sir.”

  And how did a man answer such wonderful words as that? “Thank you, Giles.” He’d answer it stupidly of course, but Giles seemed to appreciate the poor effort.

  “You’re turning maudlin, sir.
I’ll have Iris attend to the cleaning of this room immediately. Much too much dust.”

  “No need to bother her, Giles. I’ll not be wallowing in sentiment like an old lady.”

  “She needs something to keep her busy. Spends too much of her day with her tongue wagging and her mind blank.”

  Colin heard the change of inflection, the softening of the maid’s name, and the way the man refused to meet his eyes. He looked at Giles and quirked his brow.

  Giles scowled in return. “You’re looking quite smug, sir. What is it?”

  Colin shook his head. “Nothing, Giles. Nothing at all.”

  After the evening meal, Colin took Sarah into the drawing room and closed the doors. He had thought for some time about what he would tell her, whether he would lie to her. However, she would see through any lies, he knew that, and although she might not say anything, she would wonder.

  Truth be told, he was tired of his secrets.

  She sat down on the settee, smoothed her skirts, and looked at him expectantly.

  “You look very beautiful this evening.” And she did, the threads of silver in her gown matching the gray of her eyes, her fiery hair twisted atop of her hand. She looked very elegant and confident, the wife of a nobleman. The aspect of his parentage loomed larger and he swallowed.

  “Thank you.” She continued her appraisal of him, which only caused him to pace about the room. The white walls looked so bleak and pale. Perhaps they should redecorate. “Do you think we should paint this room a different color? Something more bright, cheerful? Yellow? What do you think, Sarah?”

  She chose to ignore his pitiful attempts at procrastination and shot him a telling glance with her gray eyes.

  Oh, enough. Better to spit the words out, rip out his heart with one quick jerk. “I’m Jack Cady’s son.”

  She folded her hands across her chest. “That’s impossible. You’re an earl.”

  Ah, denial. Yes, he had been through that stage as well. He studied a chair back in some detail before he could continue. “He raped my mother and then I was born after an appropriate interval.”