Little White Lies

by Sara Ackerman

  “What a pretty story that was, too.” Westby hooted. “A mythical goddess, my foot. What storytellers you Scots are!”

  Tavis thought back to the night he and Amelia met and recalled his impressions upon seeing her. “It wasn’t all a story. But I thought it would be easier for Lady Westby to accept if I painted a prettier picture than what actually happened.”

  Westby sobered. “For that, I thank you. You have no idea what it’s been like at home since Amelia’s disappearance.” He grimaced. “Had you not professed your love for my daughter, I might have had to kill you solely for the pain you caused my wife,” he said mildly. “She was distraught, you see.” Westby grabbed the bottle Tavis had brought over and poured himself another glass.

  “Westby, I never meant to break our deal. I wasn’t lying when I said our elopement just happened.”

  “No, no,” Westby interrupted. “Don’t apologize. I wanted you to marry her, and you did. For that you have my undying gratitude. That you took her from the house sooner, so much the better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wasn’t safe at home anymore,” Westby said, staring at the swirling amber liquid of his half-empty glass. “I needed her to leave as soon as possible. That’s why I used the papers against you.” He shrugged but didn’t apologize for the blackmail. “As you so eloquently said, I have no regrets. I would do it again if it meant protecting Amelia.”

  “Like you protected her when she was almost raped in her own home?” Tavis demanded. At Westby’s surprised look, Tavis growled, “Aye, she told me about that. I have half a mind to beat you to death for failing in your duty as that woman’s father.” Westby whitened in the face of Tavis’s red-hot rage. “You were supposed to protect her, not blame her for what happened!”

  Westby straightened and leaned in closer to Tavis. His eyes had taken on a wild look that made Tavis back away in nervousness. “But don’t you see? That’s why I found you.”

  “To what?” Tavis asked in confusion. “Protect her? Of course I will. With my life. But it doesn’t explain why you didn’t when she was under your care.”

  “I…I couldn’t,” Westby whispered. “My hands were tied.”

  “By whom? Who do you take your orders from, Westby?” Tavis demanded. When his father-in-law resisted still, anger coursed through Tavis’s veins, and he lashed out violently, hoping his rage would spur Westby into confessing. “You will hang for treason, Westby!” he yelled. “Not even your title will save you from that fate.”

  Westby grimaced, and his lined face grew even paler. Tavis was betting on Westby’s fear of hanging to outweigh his fear of whoever was leading their smuggling operation.

  “What does it matter now if I tell you or not? I’m a dead man either way.”

  “Tell me now who is really in charge, and I’ll see you are only exiled and not hung.”

  Westby flinched and looked around the room, even though it was only the two of them in the room. Shaking his head, he stammered, “No, no, I can’t… They’ll kill me!”

  Tavis’s control on his temper snapped, and he grabbed Westby’s lapels to yank him up. Once they were eye to eye, Tavis said with deadly calm, “And I’ll kill you if you don’t, so tell me who he is!”

  “It’s—” But whatever Westby was about to say died on his lips as a shot ripped through the window by the fireplace and struck Westby down, silencing him and his confession.

  Chapter 20

  A sharp crack disturbed the peacefulness of the sitting room where Amelia and her mother still sat talking. “What was that?” Amelia gasped, looking at her mother in surprise. “Did you hear that noise?”

  Her mother shook her head. “It sounded like a gunshot, but it couldn’t be, so close to the house. Besides, no one would be hunting at this time of year, would they?”

  Amelia’s face blanched. “Oh, no! Tavis!” Jumping up from the settee, she lifted her skirts and ran out of the room and down the hall to where Tavis and her father had retired half an hour previous. “Tavis!” she screamed down the hall. “Tavis!”

  A door slammed, and Tavis rushed to meet Amelia and her mother, who had followed closely behind. “Amelia!” Tavis stopped her from going any farther down the hallway. “I need you to take your mother and go down to the kitchen.”

  “But Tavis, we heard a gunshot. What happened?”

  “Your father’s been shot,” he whispered. “It came from outside the window. I don’t know who or why, but he’s been injured. Wickes is back from the village and is tending to him now.”

  “Howard?” Lady Westby whimpered. “Shot?” She wobbled and clutched at Amelia’s arm for support. “I need to see him.” Lady Westby tried to go farther down the hall, but Tavis stopped her with one strong arm.

  “I need to know you are safe, Amelia. Please,” he begged, “go to the kitchen, and as soon as I know anything, I will come and find you.” Amelia started to protest, but Tavis stopped her with a hard kiss. “I can’t do my job unless I know you and your mother are protected. Do you understand? I need you where nothing can happen to you.”

  Hearing the note of desperation in his voice, Amelia realized how afraid Tavis was. She nodded once and grabbed her mother.

  Tavis motioned to two footmen entering the hall from belowstairs. “Take Lady Stanton and Lady Westby down below, to the kitchen,” he ordered. Tavis strode over to a side doorway and returned moments later with two large rifles. Handing one to each of the footmen, he said, “Return to the kitchen and guard both of these women with your lives. If I find out you let something happen to either one of them because you let your guard down, I will kill you myself with my bare hands. Do I make myself clear?”

  Though pale and trembling, both nodded and ushered Amelia and Lady Westby through the hallway and to the lower level.

  “What’s this?” bellowed an irritated Mrs. Dowling upon seeing Amelia and her mother enter the kitchen escorted by two armed guards. “I haven’t time for any nonsense right now, what with unexpected guests and the evening meal ready to be cooked!” She shooed at the two footmen and planted her floured hands on her ample hips. “My lady, I can’t have this much disruption in my kitchen. I did explain to you last time about announcing your visits, didn’t I? I can’t have you popping in whenever you want, no matter if you are the lady of this house.”

  Amelia led her mother to a small table in the back of the room. Seating Lady Anne, she took the shawl from around her shoulders to wrap around the shaking ones of her stunned mother before she returned to Mrs. Dowling, who stood tapping her foot.

  “There’s been an accident, and my father’s been shot.” Amelia recounted the events to her cook as best she knew them from what little Tavis had told her. “Which is why his lordship wishes us to remain below in the kitchens,” Amelia concluded.

  A grim-faced Mrs. Dowling harrumphed, muttered something like, “Such goings on,” wiped her hands on her apron, and started barking commands to her gaping kitchen staff. Soon the room was again a flurry of activities with everyone working as ordered. Amelia watched through a bewildered fog as she sank next to her mother.

  With dinner preparations delegated and underway, Mrs. Dowling waddled over to a shelf near the ladies and pulled down a small leather sack and a pair of pointed scissors. Amelia heard her cook muttering under her breath about her herbs. “Yarrow to stop the bleeding. Garlic, I think for infection. Not much remains…hmmm…maybe ginger?”

  “Do you know of something to help my father?” Amelia asked.

  The cook’s face turned thoughtful. “I may have one or two herbs to help stop the bleeding and ease some of the pain he must be in—that’s of course if the bullet didn’t already do its job.” She patted Amelia on the shoulder before taking her bag and her scissors down the hall to the garden.

  “Wait!” Amelia called, jumping up to follow the retreating form of Mrs. Dowling. “Let me help you.” Amelia ran down the small hallway after the cook. By the time she reached the door, Mrs. Do
wling was already outside, and Amelia had her hand on the door ready to follow.

  “My lady!” called William and the other footman, stopping her from her hasty exit. “His lordship was very clear you were to remain in the kitchen under our protection.”

  “William,” she pleaded, looking at her protector. No longer young. It was funny how the moment Tavis had placed a gun in his hand, William’s face matured, changing from the sunny, smiling countenance of a carefree young man to the harsher, more serious expression of this man before her. “If I stay in here, I’ll go crazy with worry. Please,” she asked, “allow me to do something useful instead of waiting and worrying.”

  It seemed like forever, waiting for William to contemplate her request, but in a moment he nodded his agreement. “Fine,” he said, sighing. “But Luke and I go with you, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  William wasn’t through giving his orders. “If something doesn’t feel right to either me or Luke, you will go back inside with no questions asked.”

  “Yes, yes,” Amelia said, eager to be doing something useful instead of this uncertain waiting.

  William shook his head and pinned Amelia with a stern look. “No, my lady. This can’t be like last time when I told you to stay close and you yes-yessed me. Remember that time? You slipped away, and I caught hell from his lordship for having lost you, pardon my language. I had to muck out the stables.” He stared at Amelia until she flinched and looked away.

  “I said I was sorry,” she mumbled, remembering her guilt when she discovered how William had paid for her act of rebellion.

  “I know you did,” William replied, “but this is serious, and if something were to happen to you because you didn’t listen, I can guarantee you his lordship will not accept my apology as nicely as I accepted yours.”

  Amelia knew William was right. This was serious. Her father had been shot in her own home, and even though Tavis hadn’t told her what danger still existed, she knew it had something to do with her father. Amelia shivered and hoped William was just being overly cautious and no more danger lurked outside.

  “Will you do as we say, my lady? Will you listen and go inside if there is any danger?”

  “I promise, William, to do as you say.”

  “All right, then. Let’s proceed.”

  Had it not been so serious a situation, it might have been comical the way the three of them walked out to the garden and around the side of the house. With William in the lead, Amelia behind his tall frame and almost nose to shoulder blades with his back and then Luke right behind her to protect her from the rear, the three were so close together their steps had to synchronize or they might have tripped and fallen.

  When they rounded the corner to the sheltered garden where Mrs. Dowling kept her special plants, Amelia didn’t see her cook. Peering out from behind William’s back, she searched for Mrs. Dowling’s robust figure amongst the darkening shadows. All she could see, though, was what looked like a large, misshapen sack lying on the ground. But when that sack moved, Amelia gasped and broke away from her escort to run to the heap.

  “Mrs. Dowling!” Amelia yelled, shaking the seemingly lifeless form of her cook. “Can you hear me? Mrs. Dowling?” Amelia pressed her ear to the cook’s chest and was reassured to hear the familiar thumping of a heartbeat. It was slow but regular, and Amelia took comfort Mrs. Dowling was alive.

  “Amelia!” William shouted. “Get back to the house —now!”

  Her head snapped up and looked to where William and Luke had been standing moments earlier. Instead of the two men she expected to see, she saw four, and it took her a moment to realize they were fighting a fierce battle. Though the footmen appeared to be outmatched, they were not giving up without a fight. Using their size and strength against the other much more skilled fighters, William and Luke were at least able to prevent the two men from reaching her.

  Amelia’s eyes widened in terror as one of the unknown men knocked Luke over the head with the butt of his own rifle. William braced up the injured Luke, caught Amelia’s eyes amidst the chaos of the fight, and shouted, “Run!”

  Giving one last look at the unconscious cook, Amelia hiked up her skirts and ran toward the small opening between the two walls. While the bulk of the fighting blocked the majority of the exit, Luke and William’s positioning created a small opening behind them for her to slip through safely. Ducking her head, she sprinted through the opening and ran back to the house. She had just reached for the doorknob when rough fingers grabbed her from behind and her world went black.

  ****

  Once assured of Amelia’s safety in the kitchen, Tavis grabbed his rifle and ran out to check the perimeter of the house. Judging from the angle and height of the bullet entry, the shooter had been within several hundred yards of the house and somewhere up high. Tavis found the window the bullet had entered and jogged away from the house to a sparsely wooded area bordering the western edge of his property. He had to walk only fifteen feet or so before he found where the shooter had stood. It was a small hill with a flat top. At one end lay a large log someone had moved from elsewhere, as there were only small saplings surrounding the flat surface. The shooter, Tavis assumed, had moved it to steady the barrel of his rifle. On closer inspection, Tavis noted faint scorch marks on the top of the log, confirming his suspicions.

  A close look at the earth on top of the hill revealed the light indentation of footprints, large but smaller than his own. Farther back on the hill was another set of footprints. The markings of these shoes were easy to see, as the indentation was heavily made into the soil.

  Someone who weighed at least fifteen stone must have made those footprints, while the first set of footprints were made by a much leaner man. A marking toward the rear of the imprint caught Tavis’s eye. It was a large X situated in the middle of the heel, a mark Tavis remembered well. It was the same mark he and Wickes had found in the footprints from the tree grove. These men had been on his estate before, and Tavis had a good idea who they belonged to. Satisfied for the moment that there was nothing more to learn, he returned to the house to see if Westby still lived.

  Mounting the stairs two at a time, Tavis found Wickes in a spare guest room at the top of the stairs, stitching up an unconscious Westby.

  “Is he going to live?” Tavis asked.

  Wickes grunted. “He’s lucky. The bullet passed right through his shoulder. I was able to stanch the bleeding before stitching it up.” He finished tying off the bandage and went to the wash basin, where he removed the blood from his hands. “Of course there is still a chance of infection,” he said. “I’m reluctant to fetch a doctor until we know more about this situation, but if we don’t, he could take a fever during the night. Either way, it’s not an ideal situation.”

  “Amelia mentioned our cook is knowledgeable about herbs and such. Maybe she’ll have something to ward off infection.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Wickes said. “But first, tell me what you found.”

  Tavis recounted his observations and told Wickes some of his suspicions regarding what he saw.

  “Are you sure it was two people?’

  “Quite sure. Not only were the prints of different sizes, there was the obvious weight difference. And they are the same footprints we saw earlier. I’m positive.”

  “How was Westby acting before he was shot?”

  “Agitated. He was nervous and kept saying, ‘They’ll kill me.’ ”

  “That accounts for the two sets of footprints,” Wickes muttered, “but that doesn’t explain who Meeks is working for.”

  “We’ve been working under the assumption Meeks was working for Westby. That can’t be right, given what happened to Westby, along with what he was saying. The question now is who is Meeks working for if not Westby?”

  “You definitely think Meeks is the shooter?” Wickes asked as he began to pace restlessly across the floor.

  “I would say so. That would account for the lighter impressions
I found on the ground.”

  “Meeks is a good shot, isn’t he?”

  “One of the best I’ve seen,” Tavis replied without hesitation, having witnessed the man’s skills with a gun on the Continent. “At least that tells us who shot at Westby, but it doesn’t explain the other man or why they want to silence Westby in the first place.”

  “Amelia,” came a hoarse whispered voice.

  Both men whipped their heads around and looked at the bed where Westby lay. Going to his side, Tavis saw Westby had regained consciousness. Though his eyes were barely open, his breathing had changed and was more rapid and shallow, a sure sign he was awakening and in pain.

  “What did you say?” demanded Tavis. “How does Amelia have anything to do with this?”

  Westby was silent so long that Tavis thought perhaps he had passed into unconsciousness again. Finally, though it must have pained him to do so, Westby replied, “He…wants her. Broke our deal, though. No Amelia, no deal.”

  Wickes eyed Tavis before leaning over the prostrate form of Westby and asked, “Who wants her? Meeks?”

  Westby nodded. “Jeremy is…obsessed,” Westby managed to get out between shallow gasps. “Couldn’t give her to him…couldn’t do that to…to my girl.”

  If what Westby was saying was true, then Jeremy had made a deal with Amelia’s father involving Amelia marrying Meeks in exchange for…what? That remained unclear.

  “What was the arrangement you made with him?” Tavis asked, disliking Westby all the more for using his daughter in his illegal activities. “What were you going to get for marrying Amelia off to him?”

  “Their…silence,” he wheezed. “And protection for my…my family.”

  Tavis’s eyes narrowed at Westby’s reference once again to there being more than one other person involved in this mess. “Who is Meeks working with?” he shouted. Noticing Westby’s eyes had closed once more, Tavis leaned over and shook him on his uninjured shoulder, hoping to rouse him enough to get the answers he and Wickes needed. “Damn it, Westby! Who is the other man?”