Devonshire

by Lynne Connolly

  Seeing him again brought back my ordeal like a blow to the stomach, and I was glad I hadn’t eaten much that day, because I didn’t want to spoil the beautiful riding habit I’d borrowed from my sister. Terry’s body spilled out of his clothes, as though it tried to escape him; the gloating smile was as loathsome as I remembered. He poured some wine for us, though neither of us made a move to touch it.

  “You owe Miss Golightly an apology,” said Richard, at his most glacial.

  Terry’s smile was greasily gloating. “She told you, did she? I’m sorry she did; I would have liked to tell you myself. Cosy armful, ain’t she?”

  Richard said nothing for the time being, just let him talk. Perhaps he wanted to see the man’s ugliness for himself. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance we could share her? No? Pity. Some men prefer to share, you know. I’ve often taken advantage of it myself.”

  “I take it you’re not prepared to offer the apology I require?”

  “No, on the whole I don’t think so. You’ve cost me a lot of money, my lord, and I might take it in kind.” He stood. He was armed; he must have been holding the gun all the time under the desk. Neither of us turned a hair. Richard had warned me to expect something of the kind.

  The sound of a horse outside did make us start, however, not least Terry, who glanced behind him out of the window. “How cosy. Young Skerrit. Perhaps I’ll have all three of you seen to at the same time.” He raised his voice to the man outside. “Let him in.”

  He kept his gun trained on us, and soon Tom was ushered in. He stared at us in surprise, but we merely smiled in greeting. We could have been in a fashionable drawing room, both of us careful not to reveal anything.

  “Have you taken his weapons?” Terry demanded of the servant. In reply the servant took a brace of pistols out of his pocket, and let them drop back again.

  “How pleasant to see you.” sneered Terry, once his man had gone back to his post. He was sure of his control over us. “So soon after your last visit, too. Though I shall remember you best doubled up on my floor, watching me as I played with my new toy.”

  “You bastard!” Tom shot forward impulsively.

  What stopped him wasn’t Terry, but Richard. Without raising his voice, his commanding, “Sit down, Tom,” had the required effect. Tom put a hand on the desk to stop his forward rush and stood, breathing heavily to regain his temper. Then he meekly fetched a chair and sat next to me, watching Terry.

  “What stupidity made you come here?” Terry asked Richard then.

  “Several reasons.” Richard crossed his legs, supremely at ease with this man, in control. “Mostly to kill you. But I’ve always found it helps to know what sort of person it is I’m to kill. I can’t think of many more people more deserving of it than you.”

  “What a coincidence, since that’s precisely what I thought I might do with you. Shall we drink to it?” Terry poured Tom a glass of wine and placed it in front of him.

  Terry returned to his side of the desk, still holding his pistol, picked up his glass, and held it to his lips. He held it in the air, and let the daylight gleam in its depths. “Shall we say, a quick and easy end?” he said, motioning for us to drink. Richard made no move, but Tom, with the habits of good behaviour drummed into him picked up the glass, and I leaned forward to mine.

  Richard’s calm voice prevented us. “After you.”

  Terry didn’t drink, but put his glass down.

  Richard quirked an eyebrow. “Laudanum? Or something a little more professional?”

  The fat man smiled. “Someone with the same impulses as myself. I would have enjoyed getting to know you better, sir, had your imminent end not prevented it.”

  “Tell me—how do you propose to carry this out?” Richard used tones worthy of the drawing room, but the chill remained, in cut glass precision.

  Terry smiled broadly. “You’ll be taken with your horses, and thrown over the cliff. A tragic riding accident. I’d like the opportunity of finishing what I started with Miss Golightly here. In fact I might still do so.”

  Tom picked up his glass and threw it to the floor. Richard turned to him in polite enquiry. “Why did you come here, Tom? You should really have left it to us, you know.”

  “I couldn’t leave matters as they were,” Tom said. “I had to do something, and it seemed no one else would do anything.”

  “How wrong you were. So, another member of our exclusive society I think, my sweet.” Richard smiled, the query in his eyes only for me. With him, I had no problem. I smiled back serenely.

  Terry motioned at Tom negligently with his pistol. “This boy told me you love this lady. He must have mistaken the physical act with the mental one, don’t you think? I’m surprised you’re still planning to go ahead with the ceremony. You’ve had what you wanted, after all. Is she that good?” He looked at Richard with genuine curiosity in his protuberant eyes.

  Richard didn’t rise to his bait. I was sure now that Terry was provoking him, trying to get him to attack so he could shoot; trusting in the mangling the cliff would give his body to hide the evidence. “How’s your shoulder?” he asked.

  “Sore,” replied Terry immediately.

  Richard smiled, the only thing to disturb his glacial calm so far. “Good.”

  “I trust my servants relieved you of those wicked little knives?” Terry asked, a glint in his eye. “I’ve a good mind to practise with them myself. Do they cut faces well?” His attention turned to me, his meaning clear.

  “Sharp as razors,” Richard put his hand to his pocket, and let the knives click together, so Terry could hear.

  “Good God, they were supposed to take all your weapons away. He called out to the man outside the door. “Hey you!”

  Two armed footmen entered, and behind them was Carier. “Anyone?” Richard didn’t look around.

  “Cawnton,” said Carier. “I sent him home. He saw reason.”

  “Good.”

  Terry wasn’t pleased at the intrusion, but the sight of the two armed men seemed to put his mind at ease. “See no one comes in,” Richard said to his man.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Carier, for all the world as if Richard had asked him to pass him his coat. He left.

  Terry turned on his men. “You were supposed to see all the weapons were confiscated. Strang still seems to have weapons in his pocket, and I hope that scabbard’s empty.”

  In reply, Richard lifted his coat and let Terry see the hilt of his sword under it. His eyes never left Terry’s face. “Give the boy his guns back.” One of the footmen obeyed. Now Tom’s face was a picture of bewilderment.

  Unhurriedly, Richard crossed the room towards Terry, and went behind the desk. In a last gesture, Terry raised his gun and fired at him.

  THE GUN CLICKED USELESSLY. Before he could turn it round and use the butt, Richard took the barrel in his hand and wrenched it out of Terry’s grasp. At the same time he dipped his hand into his pocket and drew out his own flintlock. He put the barrel against Terry’s temple and in a voice of steel, said, “Unlike yours, this one is loaded. Sit down.”

  Such was the force of his voice we all sat, except the servants who stood silently behind.

  “You may go,” Richard said to them, and without a word the two men bowed and left.

  Terry sighed heavily. “How much did they cost you? It must have been a pretty penny, because I pay them extremely well.”

  “I know,” said Richard. “I set their salaries.”

  Terry’s head jerked round, but the gun stayed firmly against his temple. He stared Richard straight in the eye, and Richard gazed back at him, pure and innocent. “You’ve heard of Thompson’s?” he drawled.

  Terry shrugged “We get most of our servants from there, I believe. What of it?”

  “I’m one of the principals of the company.” Richard spoke slowly and clearly, waiting for his prey to catch up with him. “It’s a useful sideline, and it’s becoming more profitable every year. A portmanteau, you might say, several
uses all rolled into one. It’s the best domestic agency in the country, a spy network and a private army.”

  Terry was silent. He stared up at Richard, and realised how he’d contrived all this, how he’d been defeated. “Aren’t private armies illegal?”

  “Not as illegal as smuggling,” Richard answered.

  I glanced at my friend. “Do close your mouth, Tom.” He obeyed.

  Richard moved the pistol against Terry’s temple. “On Thursday night, didn’t you recognise any of the men I conjured up? Or don’t you recognise them out of livery?”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Terry. “They’d never dare disobey me.”

  Richard smiled. “Only if I ask them. Some of them owe me their good name and others are only drawn to me by the promise of filthy lucre. None of them have ever peached, and never will.”

  “Peached?” Terry repeated.

  “Not all my experiences have been as salubrious as you might suppose.” Richard looked as though he was in a drawing room chatting, not standing against a window holding a gun to the head of the vilest man I’d ever known. “I called a muster. I was, I admit, surprised to receive replies from under this roof, but they were the most enthusiastic members of the venture. I spoke with some of them. I thought they exaggerated somewhat, but they swear they did not.” He looked down at Terry, contempt etched into his elegant features. “I don’t propose to repeat them but it seems you enjoy making people suffer, including your own family. Miss Golightly prevented me from giving your daughter a serious set-down at Exeter Assembly Rooms. Now I know more about you I can only thank her for it. It isn’t Eustacia’s fault she has turned out thoughtless and selfish. It must have been her only defence against you.”

  “What do you know?” Terry snarled. “Women need to be kept in their place, something you’ll learn only too soon if you still intend to marry this piece.”

  “What’s all this about?” Tom managed, his voice obeying him at last.

  “You weren’t meant to be here, Tom,” I reminded him. “Did you think we’d come here without any preparation, without even a plan?”

  “Do you think I would bring Rose here if there was any danger at all?” Richard added softly. “Since everyone here is sworn to secrecy—including you, Tom—” Tom nodded dumbly, “—I needn’t scruple to tell you I love her more than life itself, and I would never voluntarily put her at any risk. I only brought her because she needed to see for herself, to put her mind at rest.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped me,” I said, smiling at him.

  “Short of locking you up, no. But if you hadn’t come, you would never have been completely sure in your mind.”

  Tom looked from Richard to me and sighed. “She was always headstrong as a girl. I could never manage her.”

  “She doesn’t need managing,” Richard looked at me with the expression he reserved for me alone. “She knows her own mind as well as I know mine. She will do as she thinks fit, and she’ll make me proud of her.” Tom sighed again, heavily than the last time.

  My love looked across at me and smiled, meeting my eyes. “Do you want to stay, sweetheart?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied.

  When his attention went back to Terry his face hardened again. “The only men in this house are Thompson’s. My men. All the others have leave of absence, supposedly on Terry’s orders.”

  Terry broke in, his harsh voice intruding on the quiet one. “Tell me what you want, and then go.”

  “Yes, of course.” Richard’s gun never wavered. “First of all, the apology. You offered Miss Golightly a deep insult. Several, in fact.”

  “Very well.” Terry was back in control of himself again. He stared across his desk at me and he grinned, the spirit still there, the memory still in his mind. “It was worth it, though.”

  Without warning, Richard swung the butt of the pistol and struck him in a backhanded swipe that knocked him sideways. Terry would have fallen out of his chair but for its arms, which kept him in place. Richard coolly reached down, hooked it into Terry’s collar, and hauled him back into place.

  The fat man’s temple bled freely, but he didn’t try to staunch the wound in any way. He seemed to be stunned, shaking his head to try to restore his reason. Richard waited. I didn’t move, although the force of the blow and its cold, deliberate delivery made Tom wince.

  “The apology,” Richard reminded him, when Terry had recovered a little.

  The man reached for his wine, and then snatched his hand back.

  “Are there any unpoisoned decanters?” Richard asked him.

  “All the others.” Terry held his hands to his head in an effort to steady himself. Richard glanced at Tom. “If you wouldn’t mind?” Tom silently went and poured a drink for Terry, brandy by the look of it, which the man took and drank straight down without a pause. He put the glass on the table with shaking fingers.

  Richard leaned forward and moved the glass out of his reach. “I should hate to see you try to spoil my looks.”

  Richard held the pistol still unwaveringly trained on Terry’s temple. “I see you’ve recovered your usual good temper. Please—let’s waste no more energy on this.”

  Terry stared at me, blood seeping from the nasty wound on his head. I sat still and straight. “I seem to have offered you some insult,” he said in a formal tone. “I regret the incident, and I offer you my heartfelt apologies.”

  I nodded. “Look down, away from her,” Richard ordered. Terry obeyed, staring at the polished desk top in front of him. “Now then,” Richard continued, to Tom and I. “Should it be suicide—or an accident?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  TOM’S HEAD JERKED UP, white and shocked. “My God, Strang, what are you saying?”

  Richard’s celestial blue eyes opened wider in surprise. “Did you think I would take his word? Did you think it was going to be a polite apology, shake hands and go home? What do you take me for?”

  “A murderer.” This choked out from Terry, rigid under the muzzle of the gun.

  “A considered cull,” Richard corrected him. “I’ve consulted with my principals, and we’re all agreed. I haven’t asked Tom what he thinks, though. Perhaps we should ask him now and leave your fate in his hands.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but something in Richard’s eyes kept me silent. “Well, Tom?”

  Tom stared, appalled, from Richard to me and to Terry and back again. Then he swore, and stood up to help himself from the decanter he’d recently used to give Terry his drink. “You mean it?”

  Richard nodded, an eyebrow raised in query. “If it’s suicide, the Crown has the right to confiscate his goods. His wife and daughter would be left destitute and although they usually choose to return a portion, because of Terry’s involvement in the smuggling, it’s more likely they’ll choose to take the estate. But if he died cleaning his gun, it’s an accident and his family will be provided for. Personally, I would opt for accident. I don’t think this should affect anyone else more than it has to. I’m not saying Eustacia Terry will at once become as sweet as Lizzie Golightly, but it may make her more content.” He paused. “Of course, I’m a good deal more compassionate than some of the other principals in the enterprise. And you, Tom, saw his excesses first hand. I’ve only seen the results.”

  Tom blinked at me, surprised. “You showed him?”

  “Yes of course,” I answered. “He would have seen it soon enough, and I’ve no intention of spoiling my wedding night by shocking him with it then.”

  “I don’t think I know you at all, Rose,” Tom said.

  “I hardly know myself.” I put my hand out to him. “I only have one constant, these days. Come, Tom, choose.”

  “Your word must count for a great deal,” Richard added. “Think about that room, what occurred in it, and—”

  “All right.” His hand shook, where it lay in mine. “I can’t bear the thought of him doing it to anyone else, and I don’t think this was the first time he’s abused s
omeone in that way. But—I can’t say it—” He broke off, biting his lip.

  “Take your time,” said Richard. It had taken me no time at all to make my mind up, but then, Tom had some time to think and recover from the ordeal, and perhaps a decision made out of reason might have more weight than mine. I glanced at Richard and saw there was no escape for Terry. There was nothing left for him now.

  “There’re others,” Terry said. “When I had her on my lap, there was a man covering us all the time. They saw what I did, they’ll speak up.”

  “Who would believe them? Ruffians, thieves like them. In any case, there were two, the one you called Peter and one named—Griffiths, I was told. They are being dealt with as we speak.” Richard gave a smile that had nothing of amusement about it. “To put your mind at rest, their widows will be taken care of.” I didn’t know if he told the truth or not, but it had the desired effect. Terry visibly winced and Tom gasped as though he had received a blow to the face. Richard accepted his stare. “There are two things at stake here, Tom. Firstly, Rose will marry a Kerre on Thursday. There are some things a family such as ours is entitled to, and I will make sure the criteria are fulfilled. Understand this is nothing to do with position, scandal, and society gossip. It goes far, far deeper than that. It’s to do with respect and decency.” Tom nodded slowly. “And then there is what is to most people the lesser consideration of the insult done to Rose and, by implication, myself.”

  “You could drop her,” Terry suggested. “I’ll take her off your hands if you think your family can’t stand soiled goods.”

  Richard looked down at Terry in mild surprise, as though he was a servant interrupting his betters. Expressionlessly, Richard put the muzzle hard against the wound and cocked it. The only movement in the room was his thumb on the hammer as he pulled it back, and the only sound the click when it locked into place. Terry drew a breath, sharply, knowing he’d come to the last. “All right. You’ve won. I’m afraid. I apologise without any reservations, I’m in the wrong. I swear not to tell anyone what has happened in this room today, and I’ll make any reparation I can.” His breath rasped heavily in the otherwise silent room.