The carriage halted, and as Bane helped her to the ground, he called to Jude, “Fetch my brother, Pastor Tom Banebridge, and his wife, over at the Baptist church. Do you think you can be back within a half hour?”
“Yes, but I do not like leaving you here without me to aid you.”
“Your concern does you credit, but we will be fine. Make haste,” Bane assured him.
“Keep alert,” Jude called, smacking the reins.
Bane unlocked and held the massive door for Edyth while she slipped inside, her feet slapping the marble foyer, with the only light streaming in the windows from the streetlamps. Setting his cane beside the hall tree, Bane motioned for her to continue inside. She rubbed her hands up and down her threadbare sleeves, shivering as they stepped in the fencing hall.
“We need to get you warm. I’ll light the fire,” he said, nodding toward the fireplace in the great hall, ready with logs and kindling. “You may have to borrow a gown from one of the women’s personal shelves.”
“I think I might actually have a fencing gown still stowed on my shelf.” She stepped away to change, but he snatched her fingers, intertwining them with his, reluctant to let her out of his sight.
“Allow me to check the room first before you are alone in there.” To his surprise, instead of protesting, she gave an appreciative smile.
“Thank you. I didn’t want to say anything, but dark rooms no longer seem so harmless after …” She dipped her head and focused on their interlaced fingers.
He squeezed her hand and, for good measure, removed a sword from the wall and held it before them as they stepped into the room. No one menacing was lingering in the shadows. He watched while she gathered her striped fencing gown from the closet, her hand stroking the fabric with reverence.
“I never thought I would see any of my dresses again, much less my favorite gown.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be just outside the door. Shout if you need me.”
“I have always needed you, Bane.”
Lifting the dripping sponge from the porcelain basin, Edyth’s hands shook as she slowly bathed her face and arms, freeing herself from the disgusting layers of grime that had been building since she was taken that first night. She ached for a bath but was thankful for even these small ablutions. She reached for the silver comb on her closet shelf, her fingers trembling, knowing it would be hopeless to expect it to make much difference. Instead, she divided her locks as best she could and plaited them in a thick braid. She wound the braid into a bun at the base of her neck and pinned it into place before slipping into her gown that kissed her raw skin.
She turned in the looking glass and sighed at her stitches, cut lips, bruised cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes from countless sleepless nights. Oh well. I never would have been the typical blushing bride even on my best of days. Spying a vase of fresh-looking crimson roses, she removed five blossoms, snapped off the stems, and stuck them atop her coiffure as she would a jeweled comb, remembering the first night she had done so and had captured her love’s attention.
Finding her fencing shoes in the closet with her stockings carelessly shoved inside, she slipped the silk over her legs, sighing with delight at the smooth, rich texture before wincing at the fresh wounds on her soles when they rubbed against the soft leather of her shoes. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and drew her sash across her body. Wrapping it about her waist for flare, she tied it into a puffed knot at her side and snatched up the remaining roses for a bouquet, wrapping a glove around the stems to protect her hands from the thorns.
“Edyth?” Bane’s voice, even from the hall, filled her with warmth. “Jude is standing guard outside, and Tom is here, along with his wife to serve as a witness. Are you ready?”
I’ve been ready for you for years, my love. For her answer, she joined him, offering her brightest smile. Even though she may not be dressed as a bride, she felt like one.
Bane’s brother’s eyes widened at her appearance. “Oh my, Miss Foster.”
Mrs. Sylvia Banebridge clasped her hands over her ample chest. “My dear, what on earth?”
“It’s a long story, which I will tell you after the vows have been spoken and the certificate signed. I apologize if I seem rude, but time is of the essence,” Edyth replied with a smile, her eyes on her groom.
“Then by all means, please join hands.” Tom motioned them to stand together in front of the flickering fireplace.
Edyth basked in the handsomeness of her Bane, hardly believing that after all these years of longing to be his bride, her dreams were coming true.
“Edyth Foster, do you take this man to be your husband?”
“Yes.” A shout and the sound of something slamming against the front doors made her clutch Bane, her memory snapping back to the last time someone had broken down her door. “I thought Jude was standing guard!”
“They must have overpowered him.” Bane wrapped his arm about her waist. “You will not be taken from me again,” he whispered, and then he commanded, “Continue, Tom.”
The doors sounded like they were being kicked in, but the pastor kept his voice firm. “And do you, Raoul Banebridge, take Miss Edyth Foster as your bride?”
“Yes!”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he concluded in a rush and reached for his wife, tucking her in the crook of his arm just as the sound of glass shattering filled the club.
“The transoms!” Edyth buried her face in Bane’s chest. She was tired of being strong. It had been too long since she’d had a moment without the looming threat of her uncle destroying everything she held dear in the world.
“Where is the marriage certificate? We need to sign it at once.” Bane looked to his brother.
Tom pulled it from the back pages of his Bible and handed it to Bane.
“We need a pen. Where’s a pen when you need one?” Bane grunted, running a hand through his hair.
Edyth ran to a small table by the window on the off chance it held a pen, glancing out and seeing her uncle with the two thugs who stole her away that first night, one threading his arm through the broken glass, attempting to open the door from the inside. “Nothing here, but there will be one at the front desk or in your office.”
Hearing shouts in the foyer, they rushed up the back stairs to the second-floor office, pulling Tom and Sylvia along with them up the steps.
Breathing hard, Bane seized a pen, signed his name, then gave the pen to Edyth. She signed the certificate and handed it to Tom and Sylvia to sign as witnesses. Spying a short knife on Bane’s desk, Edyth grasped it and slid it into the hidden pocket of her gown as Bane placed the completed certificate in the bottom drawer of his desk and locked it.
“Get the women out of here and fetch the police,” Bane ordered Tom, who scrambled to obey, reaching for Edyth.
“I will not leave you!” Edyth gripped Bane’s arm. “I cannot bear to be separated again. I would rather stay and fight with you than run anymore.” She motioned to the couple to leave without her.
Bane pushed Edyth behind him as Tom and Sylvia moved to take the back stairs. “I’m sorry, Edyth, I should have grabbed a weapon for you as well when I had the chance.”
Uncle Boris charged through the doorway, brandishing a firearm that he pointed directly at Bane. Seeing the tension in Bane’s muscular form as he held his offensive position, his blade at the ready, Edyth squared her shoulders and lifted her fists.
“You are too late, sir. We are married,” her husband boomed, commanding the room with his presence.
“Which shall be remedied at once when the courts have it annulled. You may have delayed her treatment, but she will still have it.” Uncle Boris motioned her over with one hand, keeping his firearm trained on Bane. “You will join me, Edyth. However, it is your choice if it is with or without a fatality.”
Edyth’s stance faltered. Knowing the extent of his cruelty, she would not put it past him to follow through on his threat. S
he had made the mistake of underestimating him before. She would not do so again. A sword against bullets would not be a fair fight. She had come too far to have her happy ending perish before her eyes, not while she could stop it. “Fine.”
“Edyth, whatever are you about? You cannot trust this snake,” Bane warned, keeping his sword trained on their foe.
She gave his shoulder a squeeze, silently begging him to trust her. Moving away from the safety of Bane, she dropped her head as if in despair and resignation and slowly approached her uncle, hoping that it wasn’t too great of a gamble to expect Bane to understand her intent.
Her uncle directed his gun to her, and she kept her hands where he could see them, all the while moving herself to the best position where she could draw her weapon without him catching her in time. She looked to Bane, widening her eyes at him, hoping he would create the diversion she needed.
“Do not harm my wife, Foster. Our marriage certificate is signed and witnessed. I guarantee that it will hold up in a court of law.”
As she had hoped, her uncle returned his attention to Bane. “Then she shall be your widow.” Her heart dropped as he directed the barrel to Bane’s heart, his finger pulling the trigger. Edyth lunged in front of Bane and sent the dagger flying as a shot split the night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The door of the human heart, can only be opened from the inside.
~ William Holman Hunt
Bane watched in horror as the woman he treasured above all shoved him out of the way, her eyes widening as she fell to her knees. “Edyth!”
With Edyth’s blade protruding from his thigh, Foster turned his weapon on Bane, an evil glint in his eyes. Bane whipped his blade up and struck the barrel, sending the next shot into the ceiling. With a deft stroke, he disarmed the man and, using his hilt, rendered him unconscious.
Bane sank beside Edyth, her blood pooling into his hand beneath her shoulder. He eased his bride onto his lap, keeping pressure on the wound. “Edyth, my darling. Open your eyes,” he whispered, but she remained motionless, her chest barely moving. He jerked off his neckcloth and held it to her shoulder and pressed, praying the blood would cease its flow as he watched her skin pale. “Edyth?” He cradled her head to his chest and took her hands in his. “God, please.”
Her hands were too cold, and he could no longer see her chest moving. His breath hitched. “Edyth! You cannot leave me. Please.” He lifted her chin, her cheeks bereft of rose and warmth. He folded her into his arms, her head and arms lolling back, her full lips slack. His shoulders caved as his jaw loosed in a soundless moan. He rocked her back and forth, his body racked with suppressed sobs. “No, my dear friend. You cannot leave me. Not when we’ve only found one another again.”
“What has happened here?” Bertram asked from the doorway in his evening coattails with Jude draped on his arm, pressing his palm to his bleeding forehead. Jude grew a shade paler but kept a respectable distance as Bertram sank to his knees and placed his ear at Edyth’s mouth and shook his head. He pressed two fingers at her wrist and then the other.
Bane traced her lips with his fingertip, numb. “She sacrificed herself.”
Bertram exhaled. “Her pulse is weak, but it is there, Brother. She lives yet, praise God.”
Alive? Bane pressed a kiss to her forehead before lifting his gaze heavenward, tears trailing down his chin. Thank You, Lord.
“Let me fetch my medical bag. Keep pressure on that wound! I’ll be back directly.”
The room around him faded as he clamped his hands over her wound and prayed for her life, his throat swelling at the bruises on his sweetheart, a vivid reminder of her abuse. “Hold on, sweet girl.”
Bertram trotted back into the office and knelt beside her, and with a deft slice from his scissors, he cut her gown from her wound and gently turned her. “She has an exit wound. It is a miracle that the shot did not shatter her collarbone or strike anything vital. I’ll sanitize her wounds and stitch them up, but we should send for a physician once she is stable and pray that she doesn’t fall victim to an infection.”
Foster shifted, groaning as he awoke and moving as if to heave himself to his feet.
Bane snatched up his blade. “If it weren’t for her kind soul, Foster, I’d run you through, you heartless—” The man made a lurch for the knife in his leg, and Bane flicked his blade in warning as Jude crossed the room and secured the man’s hands with rope. “I warn you to stay down, sir, or a knife wound will be the least of your worries.”
Jude pulled the rope taut before shifting Foster’s leg to examine it, which made him grunt with pain.
“Have a care, man!”
“I do, which is why I need your shirt.” Leaving the blade in place, Jude ripped off the bottom of Foster’s shirt, his ample waistline providing a generous tourniquet for the man’s upper thigh.
Foster spat on the rug at Edyth’s feet, skewering Bane with his narrowed gaze. “You thief. How dare you interfere!”
How dare he? “You threw her into a pit, leaving her there to die while you stole her future from her.” Bane kept his voice low, wishing he could strike the man, but he wouldn’t leave Edyth’s side until she opened her eyes.
Boots sounded on the stairs, and Tom returned with two policemen in tow. “My apologies for having to abandon you during the scuffle. Sylvia is safe, and I’ve brought the authorities.” His words faded at the blood-splattered room before him.
Bane’s gaze returned to Edyth, as bits of the argument around him came through the haze of his friend’s … wife’s pain. He stroked her brow that furrowed with every stitch of Bertram’s needle.
“Officers, this man abducted my niece and has been holding me against my will,” Foster called to the policemen from his place on the floor, clutching at his leg. “And I need medical attention. The girl threw a knife at me!”
One of the officers nodded to the blade stuck in Boris’s thigh. “That the one, sir?”
“Obviously. Seems they don’t pay you for your powers of deduction over in the police department. That boy refused to remove it, and I am certain I lost more blood because of his stubbornness.”
The officer nearest him knelt and examined the wound. “We best get him to a hospital before bringing him in to the station. But I suggest you mind your words. That boy, as you call him, is the son of one of the finest detectives in the city, and he probably saved your life by not removing it until we can get you to the hospital.”
“Bringing me in? Are you out of your mind? What did that pastor tell you? Well, he may be a man of the cloth, but it is all a lie.” His lips curled into a sneer.
“And the bullet through the lady’s shoulder would be a lie too?” Bane replied, never looking up, waiting for Edyth to stir in his arms, anything to let him know that she was going to live.
“It was meant for you in defense of the abduction of my niece, a child.”
Jude scratched his chin. “How can a man abduct his own wife, a grown woman of nearly five and twenty years?”
“Your wife? She’s only been out of the asylum for a couple of hours.” Bertram looked up for half a second before snipping away the ends of the thread and retrieving bandages from his bag. “Good work, Tom.”
Jude returned his attention to the officers. “Boris Foster broke into my client’s place of business and shot his bride.”
Tom nodded. “Even though I did not see the shot itself, I witnessed his attempt at abduction. My wife is still shaken from the ordeal.”
“Your word and Jude’s is good enough for me, Pastor. Boris Foster, you are under arrest for breaking and entering and the attempted murder of Mrs. Banebridge.” The officers pulled Foster’s arms behind his back and, with their hands on his shoulders and forearms, propelled him toward the exit, despite his wound.
“I want my lawyer,” he shouted.
“Better hope he’s good,” Bane growled. “Or I fear you may languish in a cell much like the one you placed your niece in. Perhaps it would be a
mercy to send you to the men’s asylum instead of prison? What do you think of that, Officers?”
“Sounds a little cracked to shoot a defenseless girl who is a close relation.”
“You thieving—!” Foster’s tirade was cut short as the officers dragged him from the room and down the stairs.
Bane kept careful watch as his brother finished dressing Edyth’s wound. He massaged her hand, hoping to bring warmth to her chilled body. “Why hasn’t she awakened yet, Bertram?”
Bertram rolled his soiled instruments into a cloth. “The shock of it must have caused her to faint, and then, followed by such blood loss, it’s natural she has not gained consciousness yet. But she is resting quietly now. I could wake her with smelling salts, but I don’t want her to jar her stitches and risk reopening the wound. Now, we can’t rightly keep your bride on the floor until she wakes. What’s your plan, Brother?”
Edyth grew aware of a burning sensation. What new torture have they found? Sitting up, she groaned at the pain radiating from her shoulder. She reached to find the source of the pain, but someone grasped her hand, stopping her from touching it. The pressure on her hand was not a hostile one, not like any nurse in the asylum, besides Nurse Jenny and Nurse Camden.
“Sweetheart,” Bane whispered, the timbre of his voice calming her as his arm tightened about her waist. “Don’t move just yet. You were shot but are on the mend.”
Memories came flooding back with the tug of stitches against her skin. She was safe. She was married! “Bane?” She lifted her gaze to his, squinting in the lambent candlelight. “Where are we?”
“At my family’s estate. You have been given a draft every few hours that has been keeping you still for a few days while your body heals. We’ve been feeding you soup whenever you have awakened. Though you have been pretty incoherent, which is understandable given the medicine. But the doctors are now tapering off your doses, so you should begin to remember soon.”
The Gray Chamber Page 21
