Instantly, he was full of contrition. ‘Oh, it is, my darling, I promise you!’ he said, sweeping her into his arms once more. ‘More than anything in the world. You must let me explain—’
This time a sudden faint sound from within the mill halted his words and, with a heavy sigh, he again pushed her away from him. ‘But it seems that all that will have to wait. I had allowed it to slip my mind that there are still more urgent matters that need my attention.’
As she registered the expression of firm resolve on his face, Georgina’s eyes grew anxious and she was immediately filled with a fear for his safety. ‘No, leave him, Edward!’ she begged him. ‘I would much prefer that you take me home now. We don’t need to stay in this awful place any longer. Please!’
He looked down at her in astonishment. ‘You can’t seriously imagine that I will allow that devil to get away with his appalling treatment of you,’ he replied hotly. ‘I intend to find out who the swine is and then teach him a lesson that he won’t forget in a hurry!’
‘But I know who he is,’ Georgina said shakily. ‘His name is Carstairs and he is my aunt’s cousin and—’
‘Carstairs?’ interrupted Latimer with a frown and his eyes narrowed. ‘Not Gerald Carstairs? Dear God in heaven, did he—did he—hurt you?’
Surprised that he seemed to recognise her tormentor’s name, she was struck silent for a moment but then, shaking her head, she gripped her hands tightly in front of her and continued nervously. ‘N-not in the—way I think you—m-mean, although h-he did try to—seduce me when I first visited my uncle—on that day you agreed to wait for me in the church.’ She saw the sudden spurt of anger in his eyes and again hesitated before blurting out in a rush, ‘I was trying to fend him off, but—oh, Edward! I think I may have killed him!’
‘Killed him?’ Latimer was momentarily taken aback, then quickly recovered and asked her searchingly, ‘What makes you think that you’ve killed him?’
‘I hit him on the head with an iron hasp,’ she replied in a small voice. ‘He fell in a heap in front of the door—that’s why I had to climb up to the gallery—there was no other way out!’ Her voice ended in a sob.
In one swift movement Latimer was at her side and, gathering her into his arms, he said stoutly, ‘No, don’t upset yourself, my sweet—it’s far more likely that you merely winded him—although I swear to you that, if I find that is the case, the filthy scoundrel will certainly wish he was dead before I’ve finished with him!’
‘Please don’t go inside, Edward,’ she begged him. ‘He’s so big and so violent! He might hurt you and—’ She stopped and blushed in confusion as she caught his expression, which was a combination of amusement and shocked indignation. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that you—’ Her voice trailed away as he let out a guffaw of laughter and bent to kiss the tip of her nose.
‘Silly goose,’ he said affectionately. ‘I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!’ Then, quickly divesting himself of his jacket, he handed it to her before turning on his heel to head for the main door of the mill, adding, ‘Wrap that well round you and stay out of sight—oh, and by the way—the name’s “Ned”, if you’ve no objection!’
And, after favouring her with another of his insouciant smiles, he bounded up the stone steps and retrieved his pistol from the corner where he had hurriedly tossed it while Georgina was making her perilous journey down the chain.
As he checked to make sure that the weapon still held its charge, it suddenly came to him that it must have been Carstairs’s bulk that had prevented him from forcing open the door at his earlier attempt. He looked about him for some implement with which he might lever the door open or even smash in one of its panels. As he had noted on his arrival, the ground was littered with pieces of debris from the sails and, sure enough, after he had spent some minutes kicking his way through some of the tall nettle plants that had grown up around the steps, he found what he was looking for: a short iron bar, which, as well as being quite suitable for either one of his objectives, would also provide him with a very useful extra weapon.
Latimer leaned once more on the door, intending just to test its resistance before attacking it with his makeshift jemmy. To his surprise and slight consternation it started to move inwards without any difficulty; although it ground to a halt halfway, it afforded him sufficient space to peer into the room. It took him a moment or two to accustom his eyes to the gloom and, at first, he was unable to locate Carstairs’s whereabouts. Then the sound of heavy, rasping breathing caught his ear. Screwing up his eyes, he could just make out Carstairs’s portly figure sitting on the ground at the far side of the room. He heaved against the door once more and, with a protesting screech, it twisted off its hinges and collapsed on the floor at his feet, thereby flooding the room with daylight.
To begin with, Georgina had been perfectly willing to obey Latimer’s instructions and so she remained exactly where he had left her, but then her increasing nervousness at what he might discover in the room, coupled with an overwhelming anxiety for his well-being, prompted her to edge her way round the curving wall towards the doorway of the mill, just in time to see him break down the door.
In breathless admiration she watched as, with one barge from his powerful shoulders, the door fell backwards into the room but then, as the now brightly lit interior became fully visible, her heart gave a sudden jolt of dismay when she perceived that Carstairs was no longer lying on the spot where she had last seen him. As Latimer advanced into the room ahead of her, both pistol and jemmy in his hands, she crept slowly up the steps and concealed herself behind the narrow buttress of the doorjamb where, straining desperately in order not to miss anything, she almost swooned away with shock as she heard Carstairs’s loathsome tones reverberating from the far side of the building.
‘Well, ’pon my word!’ came his inebriated slur. ‘If it ain’t Lord Templeton himself! Wha’ the devil you doin’ here, old man?’
Chapter Eighteen
Carstairs was slumped against the wall, one hand still clutching his now-empty brandy flask between his drawn-up knees. With bloodshot eyes he peered drunkenly at Latimer.
Latimer’s jaw tightened in disgust and it was all he could do to keep from throwing himself upon the coward and beating him senseless but, with considerable difficulty, he managed to control his fury.
‘You’ve gone too far this time, Carstairs,’ he grated. ‘It’s clear that you need to be taught a lesson.’
Carstairs blinked and his mouth fell open in surprise. ‘Can’t shee that what I do with my time ish any businesh of yours, Templeton.’
‘On this occasion it happens to be very much my business,’ replied Latimer stiffly. ‘I demand to know why you attacked Miss Cunningham in this craven manner.’
‘Shush, dear chap, I beg of you!’ giggled Carstairs and, hiccoughing, he pointed his little finger up to the ceiling. ‘The little hellcat will hear you—she’s shkulking around up there somewhere, but she’s sure to have to come down eventually—it’sh jus’ to wait patiently and we’ll have her back at our mercy!’
‘Get up, you worm,’ Latimer snarled, itching to get his hands on the man. ‘Get up on your feet and repeat that, if you dare!’
‘What’sh it to you, Templeton?’ Carstairs said thickly. ‘Thought your sort never hit a fellow when he’s down—jus’ the shame as all the rest of us when it comes to it, eh?’
At these words Latimer was almost beside himself with rage. Tossing his weapons on to the pile of sacking, he threw himself towards the offender and, clutching the lapels of his jacket, he dragged Carstairs’s almost dead weight into a semi-upright position.
‘One more word like that and you’re dead, Carstairs,’ he snarled threateningly, thrusting a furious face into the other man’s. ‘Stand up and fight like a man, you cowardly swine!’
‘Offer declined, old chap,’ replied Carstairs with a snigger and sank to his knees at Latimer’s feet.
Cursing, Latime
r released his hold and stepped away from him. Breathing heavily, he could see that it was pointless trying to pursue his present course of action. He was only too aware of the fact that it would be simplicity itself to beat the filthy scoundrel senseless, but clearly the man was hopelessly drunk and, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, every one of Latimer’s natural instincts about fair play and codes of conduct combined to prevent him from laying into Carstairs. Staring down at the man, who had now rolled on to his side and appeared to have fallen into a drunken sleep, he wondered whether, in the circumstances, it might not be more sensible just to leave him where he was and let the local law officers deal with him—if and when they finally turned up.
He was still at a loss to understand why it should be taking so long for outside help to come to their aid and reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that Rupert must have been unable to persuade his family that he was telling the truth about his sister’s disappearance. Pondering for a moment or two on this far-from-welcome thought, Latimer then decided to shelve his own interrogation of the villain and get Georgina home as quickly as possible, feeling that she had suffered quite enough for one day. He cast his eyes around the room in search of something with which he could, at least, bind Carstairs’s hands and feet in order to keep him captive until he could contact the sheriff. He spotted one or two short lengths of frayed rope hanging on some nails on the wall beside the doorway and, seeing that Carstairs was now lolling on the floor apparently out for the count, moved hurriedly across the room to collect them.
As soon as she realised that Latimer was coming back in her direction, Georgina managed to dodge behind the doorjamb and, holding her breath, she tiptoed quickly down the steps, thankful that he had at last decided to leave Carstairs and quit the building. She heard him reach the doorway but, for some reason, he stopped, and her heart sank as she heard the sound of his footsteps returning to the far side of the room. Full of apprehension, she darted back up to her hiding place and leaned forward to peep round the doorjamb, just in time to see Carstairs staggering to his feet with Latimer’s discarded pistol clutched in his hand.
‘Good thing we don’t all have your high and mighty morals, your lordship!’ he sneered, aiming the weapon straight at Latimer’s heart. ‘Should’ve flattened me while you had the chance—won’t get another, I promise you! Prepare to meet your Maker!’
Without a second thought Georgina threw herself into the room. ‘No, Carstairs! Please!’ she screamed wildly. ‘Don’t! I beg of you!’
At the sound of her voice Latimer wheeled round with an exclamation of dismay and, momentarily distracted by the combination of his intended target’s sudden movement and his previous victim’s unexpected reappearance, the still-inebriated Carstairs allowed his attention to waver. ‘Now, where in the hell did you spring from?’ he spluttered in amazement.
Latimer saw his chance and hurled himself towards the man, the weight of his body forcing them both to the floor in a tangled heap. As Carstairs’s arms and legs flailed desperately beneath him, Latimer was engaged in a frenzied struggle to gain control of the weapon, driving his fists again and again into Carstairs’s face and upper body but, despite all of his frantic endeavours, the writhing Carstairs somehow managed to keep the pistol out of his reach.
In a state of terror, Georgina ran towards the grappling pair, intent upon doing something—anything—to save Latimer from Carstairs’s rage. Kicking wildly at her tormentor had little effect, so she then tried stamping on the hand that was waving the pistol about, hoping to make him release his hold upon it but, just when it seemed that she might well have succeeded with this distraction, Carstairs managed to jerk his hand away, causing her to lose her balance and fall to her knees beside the two men. At the very same instant a shot rang out; both bodies reared upwards as one, gave a violent shudder and sank back to the ground, quite still.
Almost paralysed with fear, for several seconds Georgina remained on her knees just as she had fallen, her eyes glued to Latimer’s motionless body then, with a little sob, she forced herself to reach out and touch the back of his head.
‘Ned—oh, Ned!’ she whispered brokenly. ‘What have I done?’
There was a choking gurgle, followed by a breathless grunt and Latimer slowly lifted his head. Painfully easing himself away from Carstairs’s inert body, he rolled over flat on to his back and, looking up, tried to focus his eyes on her face. He was struggling to regain his breath, the pulse at his throat was throbbing wildly and his shirt front was covered with blood. He lifted his hand and shakily touched Georgina’s cheek, which was wet with tears.
‘S’all right, sweetheart,’ he wheezed, still trying to get his breath back. ‘Not hurt—just winded. Don’t cry, my love.’
At which Georgina immediately burst into tears and flung herself down beside him. ‘I thought you were dead,’ she wailed, as she pressed her lips to his cheek and stroked his brow. ‘You are bleeding most dreadfully—please let me see how badly you are hurt.’
Inexpertly, she fumbled at his shirt buttons one by one and for a moment Latimer lay still, watching her movements with great interest until, with a reluctant grin, he gave a little shake of his head, removed her hands from his clothing and slowly sat up.
‘Not my blood, sweetheart,’ he said, his breathing more or less back to normal. ‘Damn gun went off in his hand—got stunned in the recoil. Sorry you have to be party to such a frightful mess.’
Georgina’s eyes travelled to Carstairs’s grossly distorted body, which, amazingly, looked even more repellent in death than it had when the beast was alive. One pale, flabby hand lay on his chest, still clutching the discharged weapon, and, across the front of his garishly coloured waistcoat, a bloody stain was slowly spreading. She flinched and turned her head away from the grotesque sight.
‘Ought we to do something?’ she asked Latimer fearfully.
He glanced briefly at the dead man beside him. ‘Done for, I’m glad to say,’ he replied shortly.
‘Ned! You must not say such dreadful things!’
‘Sorry, my love, but it’s no more than the scoundrel deserved,’ Latimer retorted unrepentantly, getting to his feet and holding out his hands to help her rise. ‘He’d have been sent to the gallows for this day’s mischief and, in any event, he’s saved us from the ignominy of having to attend a public trial.’
She was about to reply but then she hesitated and, unsure exactly how to phrase the question that had been occupying her mind, she forced herself to hold her tongue. Instead, she proceeded to try and busy herself with the seemingly hopeless task of restoring some sort of order to her dress, her face gradually becoming hot with embarrassment as she looked down and registered the state of her badly ripped bodice.
Latimer, having retrieved his jacket from beside the doorway, where Georgina had dropped it in her feverish dash into the room, was now bent on a similar course of action with regard to his own dishevelled appearance. Skilfully rebuttoning his soiled shirt, he smiled mischievously at Georgina’s attempts to cover herself and his eyes gleamed with barely suppressed laughter at the rosy flush that flooded her cheeks when it suddenly dawned upon her exactly how much of her bosom she had been unwittingly revealing during the last half-hour or so.
‘I think my jacket will still be of more use to you than it is to me, sweetheart,’ he said, with an amused twinkle in his eyes as he stepped over to drape it around her shoulders. ‘If you keep it pulled towards you, no one will see the damage to your dress—such delicious sights should be for the privileged few, I feel—or, more precisely—only for the very privileged one!’
Blushing once more, she lowered her eyes, and, still unable to find the courage to broach the unpleasant topic of Carstairs’s conversation with him, she thrust her arms into his jacket sleeves and wrapped it tightly about her, before enquiring anxiously, ‘But how on earth are we to get home?’
Latimer leaned towards her and, achingly conscious of her nearness, began to extract pieces of straw f
rom the unruly curls that were falling about her shoulders in the most entrancing fashion.
‘That carriage is still in the barn—we’ll have to use it—we can’t have the entire village seeing you in this state.’
‘But what happened to the driver?’
‘Taken care of, my love,’ he answered non-committally. ‘Although, come to think of it, in the light of what has happened, I doubt if we’ll have any difficulty in persuading the fellow to drive us back to Westcotes.’
Georgina’s eyes grew dark with alarm. ‘But, surely, the man cannot be trusted? He must have been in league with Carstairs!’
‘Hired for his ability to keep his mouth shut, nothing more,’ was his brief reply, but then, seeing that the worried expression did not leave her face, he frowned and asked apprehensively, ‘He didn’t touch you, did he, Gina? Or speak to you?’
She shook her head. ‘He did try to run us down, though. I wish I could fathom out what was behind it all.’
‘Carstairs probably saw it as a way of getting you into the carriage.’
‘Maybe, but I refuse to believe that any man would go to such lengths simply to—’ She stopped and another rosy blush stained her cheeks. ‘I mean, there has to be another explanation. After all, there must be dozens of females he could have picked on. Why me?’
Latimer smiled and grudgingly tore his eyes away from her unconsciously wanton appearance. ‘You obviously have no concept of how very desirable you are, my innocent,’ he said gruffly. ‘And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Carstairs was pretty well known around town for his rather abysmal lack of morals.’
In dispirited silence, she searched his face. ‘Then you were acquainted with him?’ she said flatly.
Torn between the urgency of getting her away from the stultifying atmosphere of the old mill and the ever-present need to unburden himself of his deception, Latimer hesitated, feeling that in a somewhat less tempting and more congenial atmosphere he would have better control of the situation. He then concluded that a properly adequate explanation was likely to take far too long in their present circumstances and remained silent.
Dorothy Elbury Page 23
