He pushed through the large oak door marking the start of the servants’ corridors and paused. There at the far end of the corridor on the left, Eliza stood staring blankly into one of the rooms. Edward cursed fluidly.
It was the room Jemima was lying in.
His fear as replaced with worry as he slowly approached her. Even from several feet away, he could see her visibly trembling with the tumult of emotions she was experiencing. Despite her earlier sobbing, it disturbed him that there were no tears now. Just the blank stare of someone who had absorbed too much shock and horror to know how to deal with the emotions she was faced with. She turned to stare blankly at him as he approached and offered no protest when he hauled her into his arms, pulling her tight against his chest to block out the cold reality of her sister’s demise.
He didn’t need to look into the room to know Jemima lay on her back on the only piece of furniture in the room. Her arms folded in peace across her chest, silent and motionless in death’s firm hold.
The image of Jemima lying so cold and alone would remain with her for the rest of her days. Eliza thought as she accepted the large goblet of brandy Edward placed in her hand in the warmth of the study. She didn’t usually drink the stuff, but she needed something to hold.
It was several moments before she became aware of Peter slouched half-drunk on the chaise beside her. A bottle of what she presumed to be brandy held loosely in his hand.
Eliza studied him for several minutes before slapping her drink on the table beside her and rising to snatch the brandy off him. She stood back and watched as Peter jerked out of his alcoholic stupor and sat bolt upright, grumbled a protest at her abrupt removal of his emotional anaesthetic.
“What do you think you are doing?” She stood over him, holding the bottle aloft. Briefly she considered hitting him with it, before deciding on a better idea. Eyeing the offending object with distaste, she pushed Peter roughly backwards until he landed on the chaise with a thump and with a snarl, stalked towards the window, lifted it and threw the bottle and contents outside. Peter cursed fluidly as she slammed the window back down and stalked back towards him.
Her temper flared as she took in his bloodshot eyes, the ruffled unkempt hair, his once pristine shirt liberally stained with alcohol and vomit. He looked a mess, but the dark emotions deep in the shadows of his tormented eyes chilled her to the bone.
“There is one thing Jemima hated.” She muttered, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling it tight, drawing him forwards until they were nose-to-nose. “It was a drunkard. If I see you with another bottle in your hand, I’ll beat you over your stupid head with it.” Her voice trembled with the strength of her anger.
“What the hell are you trying to do? Do you really think you will succeed in drinking yourself into an early grave too?” Her voice rose in temper but she didn’t care. She was aware of Edward and Dominic standing close by, watching intently but making no move to intervene. They had the sense to stand back and let her have at him.
Both men knew that Eliza needed to vent her fury and if anyone in the house was going to get Peter to stop drinking, it was going to be her. Peter would never do anything to harm Jemima’s sister. If she said to stop drinking, Peter would undoubtedly, at some point, stop.
“I love her.” Peter’s voice was hoarse with grief and bitter regret.
“I know. I do too, but drinking yourself to death isn’t going to bring her back. She has gone Peter.” Eliza’s voice trembled but she refused to allow the tears to fall. “If you really care about her, you need to sober up and help us sort out her funeral. When she is buried, you have an estate that needs your attention and people living and working there that depend on you for their livelihood. You cannot fail them.”
“Like I failed Jemima?” Peter’s voice was harsh and cynical as the horrifying memory of his last look at her alive swam in his mind before he could quash it down.
“You – didn’t – fail – Jemima.” She bit out each word through clenched teeth. “Nobody did. If you really want to be harsh about it, Jemima could have done more to protect herself. Instead, we sat there in Derby like ducks waiting to be picked off by a merciless hunter. It was only a matter of time before Scraggan found us. Luckily for me, Edward found me and saved me before Scraggan got me. Jemima wasn’t so lucky. There was nothing you could have done. Beating yourself up about it is going to get you nowhere.” She declared flatly, releasing her hold on his shirt and pushing away.
“She should have come to me.” Peter gasped through the heavy weight in his chest. “I would have helped her.”
“I know, but don’t you see? She was trying to protect you. By staying in Derby, she was as close to you as she dared be without actually seeking your help and putting you at risk.” If she understood anything about the last few weeks it was her sister’s logic in the face of adversity. Indeed, she had witnessed Edward bravely facing death in an effort to protect her. Jemima had clearly been trying to prevent Peter from facing the same by staying away from him.
As she turned towards the fireplace, she felt an unusual sense of calm wash over her. Her anger made her feel purposeful, as if she was in command of herself, if not the situation around her. She stood and stared down at the fire flickering brightly in the grate for several moments before turning towards Dominic.
“I should like to remove her to Padstow. She should be buried beside father.”
“I’m sorry Eliza, it isn’t possible.” Dominic replied, regret lacing his voice. “It’s too dangerous with Scraggan’s men in the area. If we could get her there, they probably wouldn’t give us the opportunity to bury her in peace.”
“We owe her the dignity of a peaceful burial, without the threat of Scraggan disturbing proceedings.” Edward added. He didn’t mention Havistock was only a few hours away from his own estate, Eliza’s future home. Having Jemima buried at Havistock meant that Eliza could at least visit her sister’s grave whenever she chose to.
“I have already arranged for the funeral to be held in two days.” Dominic announced flatly in a voice that brooked no argument.
“Eliza, if I might have a word with you?” Edward moved towards the door connecting the study to the library and waited.
Thinking he might want to discuss details of the service, Eliza followed him. She watched as he sat on the long chaise before the roaring fire and turned, clearly expecting her to join him. She did as she was bade and perched cautiously on the edge of the seat, studying the starkness on his face in concern.
She briefly wondered if she could handle any more bad news and if the look on his face was any indication, she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. Her stomach began to knot as Edward let the silence settled between them for several moments.
“I have been trying to find the right time to speak with you but no time seems like the right time now.” His eyes met and held hers. “I contemplated leaving it until the funeral was over, but think that it would be best if it was all dealt with together.”
Eliza frowned and waited, her stomach coiled in a tight knot of nerves.
“I spoke to Jemima before she was led back to the cell as you know.”
Eliza stared at him, silently waiting.
“She asked me to give you these.” He held out a folded sheaf of parchment. He couldn’t tell her the entire conversation and upset her further.
She sucked in a breath as she studied the single word on the top sheet, written in Jemima’s scrawling script.
“Do you want me to stay while you read it, or would you prefer to read it alone?”
Eliza wasn’t sure and raised helpless eyes to him in mute appeal.
“I’ll just be in the study if you need me.” He paused for several moments and waited until she nodded before he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and left.
With trembling hands Eliza untied the loose strings from the sheets of parchment and carefully unfolded them. The sight of her father’s handwriting on some of the sheets
brought about a fresh wave of misery and she cried out with the physical pain of her loss.
Within moments Edward was standing in the doorway, studying her with a frown of concern. “Are you alright?”
Eliza turned to stare blankly at him, unaware of the tears trailing down her face.
He was immediately at her side, holding her hand in mute support. “Should I have waited?”
Eliza immediately shook her head. “No. No, it’s alright. It is just that these are in my father’s writing.” Her voice was husky with tears as she picked up two pieces of parchment covered almost completely with tiny script.
She slowly lifted them up for Edward to see. He glanced at her cautiously for several moments before slowly relieving her of the objects and studying them closely.
“They are the codes, and contacts I mentioned.” She murmured softly.
“I’ll see the man from the War Office gets them along with the papers Dominic already has. It is enough we need to bring Scraggan and Rogan down Eliza. You should be immensely proud of your father and sister.” He murmured, folding the papers and placing them carefully onto the table before them.
Eliza nodded slowly, unable to speak. She was inordinately proud of them, of course she was, but a small part of her wondered if it really was worth the ultimate price they paid. After all, both Jemima and her father were now dead while Scraggan continued to keep people’s lives in his brutal hold.
She wondered if the even the War Office was big enough to bring the man down.
“It may be enough to mean you don’t have to go after Scraggan yourself.” Eliza whispered, hoping he would announce he was staying despite knowing it was a futile wish.
There was a glint of determination in his eyes that she had never seen before. Her warrior; and she did now consider him hers; was preparing for battle and she didn’t think anything could prevent him from going.
Edward stared at her for several moments, a look of regret on his face. “You know I can’t simply stay here and do nothing. Peter is determined to go and shouldn’t in all conscience, go on his own. His a bit of an enigma at the moment, nobody knows what he is going to do. It is almost as though he is too quiet. It could make him reckless.”
Eliza’s heart sank. Sebastian and Dominic couldn’t go. Isobel was due to deliver any day and although Amelia wasn’t as far along, the worry of having Sebastian heading off to fight murderous smugglers was the last thing she needed. That inevitably left Edward as the only able bodied man available to accompany Peter.
“There is a possibility that you may not find Scraggan as easily as you think you can, or that you can bring him to justice at all.” She raised a hand when she sensed his objection. She didn’t want to offend him but had to be honest. “I don’t mean to insult you, but my father wasn’t a reckless man but when he left for the War Office he had heavily armed outriders for protection. Despite that, Scraggan and his men caught and murdered them. Scraggan has found both Jemima and me where Peter couldn’t, and has followed all of us up and down this country like a dog after a bone. There is nowhere we have been, where he or his men haven’t turned up eventually.” Her eyes met and held his solemnly. “If there is one thing I have learnt from all of this, it is that life is temporary. One moment everything can seem to be going well, and then it can all be torn apart so very easily; there are no guarantees about anything and unfortunately that has to include bringing Scraggan to justice.”
“There are no guarantees in anything in life Eliza. Even successful people like Scraggan can have things topple far easier than they expected.”
Eliza knew they could keep going around and around in circles in a futile attempt to reach a conclusion.
“We have to make the most of what we have, while we have it.” His soft declaration was accompanied by his searching look as silence settled about them for several moments.
Everything within her froze and waited for his next words. A declaration, one small sign of affection. Anything. She was left feeling strangely deflated as the moment passed.
“I think I have a definite way to get your sister’s name cleared.” He glanced cautiously at her for several moments before rising to stand before the fireplace, one booted foot resting on the fender in a casual pose.
Instinctively she knew he was anything but relaxed. She could feel the tension practically humming through him as she waited for his next words. They weren’t what she expected.
“Both you and Jemima have been carrying state secrets. By keeping them with you for as long as you have, both of you have inevitably kept them out of Scraggan’s possession. There is enough information now to bring down his smuggling operation and close the door on the French spies he is bringing into the country. Without even knowing it, you have been protecting the security of the entire country for several months. I think the War Office owe both you and Jemima a considerable amount, not least a pardon for Jemima. Dominic has already started bringing Sir Dunnicliffe up to date with the latest events.”
“Sir Dunnicliffe?”
“The man from the War Office.” Edward replied flatly, feeling a wave of annoyance for the official representative. “He arrived a few minutes ago.”
“What took him so long to get here?” Eliza asked with a frown.
“He got held up somewhere apparently, something about state business.” He smiled ruefully at her. “I think it is probably better that we don’t know.”
Eliza nodded not understanding but realising it was a mute point now. “A pardon for Jemima would be wonderful, but it is far too late. It can never replace her.”
“I know.” Edward murmured, returning to sit beside her. “But she can at least rest in peace with her name cleared.”
“I think I should like you to stay while I read Jemima’s letter, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Read on.” Edward replied, settling back against the chaise to wait.
Chapter Twelve
“Are you alright?” He asked several moments later as she sat staring blankly at the fire, the unopened letter still held in her hand.
Eliza snapped out of her daze and studied the familiar scrawl on the parchment. It was full of bravery, encouragement and love, encouraging Eliza to go into the future with the expectation of happiness. She shouldn’t look back with regrets or think of Jemima or Papa with any regret or bitterness in her heart. To do so would mean she was no better than Scraggan. Typical for Jemima, even in death she was trying to tell Eliza what to do.
Eliza shook her head ruefully and glanced at Edward.
“She was set up by Scraggan.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Has she told you what happened?”
She glanced down at the letter for several moments. “Rogan sent her a message saying that they had kidnapped me. They gave her a meeting place to be at if she wanted to see me alive again. Apparently she sent me a note, asking me to meet her but I didn’t arrive.” She hiccupped. “I didn’t get the note Edward.”
“So Eliza went to the meeting place thinking she could barter what she had for you.”
Eliza nodded slowly. “When she arrived there were five other men there, but no Rogan. A carriage had already been stopped and the occupants killed. Someone appeared behind her and gave her a small bag of coins. She took it off them without thinking; she says she couldn’t really see what it was and the man disappeared into the trees before she could say anything. Then everything was thrown into confusion as they were suddenly arrested. She was arrested for killing the man she was standing over, and stealing the pouch of coins she held.” She turned luminous amber eyes to Edward, not attempting to hide her anger.
“They set her up.”
“Although there is little we can do to bring her back, with the letter giving us her version of events. The information she has left us gives us more than enough to clear her name.”
“We can try.” Eliza murmured softly, refusing to allow her emotions to be raised in hope.
“The sooner we can bring
Scraggan to justice, the quicker peace will settle on all of us.” He murmured softly, picking up her hand and holding it carefully in lieu of drawing her into his arms.
She was still staring down at the letter in her hand, a thoughtful frown on her face. Briefly he wondered what else the letter contained but accepted that it was private to her and she would tell him in her own time, if she considered he needed to know.
“Here.” She murmured, handing him the parchment.
“Are you sure?” He replied, taking it from her cautiously.
He was about to unfold the paper when a loud, high-pitched scream broke the silence.
“What the hell?” Grabbing her wrist in his, he clutched the parchment in his hand and ran from the room, dragging her close behind.
At the far end of the long corridor he saw Dominic and Sebastian running towards them and together they all ran towards the back of the house and the origin of the screams.
“Do you know who it is?” Dominic snapped, slamming the door to the servants area open with a bang.
“It sounds like it is coming from the kitchens.” Eliza gasped, trying to ease her arm out of Edward’s relentless grip.
The screams continued, only broken by the person attempting to take a breath.
“Sir, quickly!” A shocked maid gasped from the doorway before she disappeared back into the kitchens.
Within moments they were all standing at the end of the long servant’s corridor that spanned the length of the house. A middle aged woman with wild eyes stood at the far end, staring into one of the rooms; her hands clutching her wild mass of hair.
“What is it woman?” Dominic snapped, striding towards her, a frown of concern on his face. He knew instinctively which room the woman was looking at and wondered why nobody had told her there was a body in the room.
“For God’s sakes will you shut up?” Dominic growled; his voice practically a shout when the woman continued to wail.
It was enough to snap the woman out of her horrified trance and she turned glazed eyes on the master before crossing herself and pushing past him. She began to scream as she ran down the corridor.
Chasing Eliza Page 20
