by C. A. Asbrey
Abigail and Nat exchanged a look of knowing cynicism in the moonlight as Jake grinned from ear to ear.
“Easy there, boy,” Nat whispered. “You don’t want to end up a gelding at the hands of an angry husband.”
“Masterful?” Bartholemew’s voice rang with the empty ring of her misplaced platitude missing the mark entirely.
“I’ve no idea why he was there, but he shot the men who took me and promised to lead me to safety. Jake was nice to me.”
“I bet he was nice to you. Did you arrange to meet him?”
“How could I? He stumbled across us and I’ve no idea who he is.”
“Yeah, real convenient.”
They heard Madeleine gasp. “That’s it. I’m going home to mother first thing in the morning. I’ve been terrified and abused and this is my welcome home? Jealous probing instead of concern and protection? And all the while, you’ve been off gallivanting since I came home. Where have you really been?”
“You’re not going anywhere, lady. You’re my wife, and you’ll do as you’re told.”
Madeleine snorted in derision. “Yeah? You stand there and think of your next order while I get myself out of here. Where’s my dress?”
“I can see the family resemblance now,” Nat whispered across Jake to Abigail.
“You promised to obey,” barked David Bartholemew. “You stood in that church and gave your word in front of God.”
“You also promised to love, cherish, and honor me. What about your side of the bargain? I’ve been bundled off by two brutes and you accuse me of running off with men. I’m not even sure one of them was human.”
“She’s got a point,” Jake whispered in Abigail’s ear. “Gary’s real scary lookin’. Nice fella, animals love him, but he looks like a diseased bear.”
“I want to know where you were, woman!”
“I was kidnapped. I came back as soon as I could.”
There was a long silence as Bartholemew processed this information. They could hear him pacing as his bare feet slapped angrily on the tiles on the hall floor.
“What’s he doing?” asked Abigail.
“My money would be on trying hard to pull back from the argument,” muttered Nat. “If Madeleine leaves, so does her money.”
“I’m sorry.” They all had to concede that Bartholemew sounded genuinely contrite this time. There was a note of strangulated angst playing through his words. “I’m a jealous fool, but it’s only because I care. I was just so worried. I thought you’d run off—that you had second thoughts about marrying me.”
“I do, now,” growled Madeleine. “Do you know what I’ve been through? I thought they were going to kill me—or worse!”
“Oh, my sweet darling. I’ve been so selfish. What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
“No, but I spent a lot of time tied up. I’ve slept on the ground next to vile, rough men who smelled like horses and wet dogs. Jake even came into the river with me when I was washing. Do you know how hard I had to fight for my honor?”
“I never—” hissed Jake, his blue eyes piercing earnestly through the shadows. “She invited me in, then she tried to get my gun—”
“Are you sure?” chortled Nat.
“I am. I know Maddie,” snapped Abigail in hushed tones. “Now, will you two shut up? They’ll hear us.”
“Oh, Madeleine. How could I ever have doubted you? I’ve been a damned fool.”
“Yes, you have,” came the huffy response.
“I’m sorry. Let me show you how sorry.”
“No. Go away. Leave me alone.”
“But, darling—”
“Take your hands off me. Oh! That’s so naughty.”
Loud giggles started to drift through to them once more as Abigail rolled her eyes in disgust.
“No—” Madeleine squealed with delight before she could eventually be heard murmuring sweet nothings. They couldn’t hear what she said, just the music of the murmured words as the pair lapsed into another sybaritic celebration of her return.
“Again? Already?” Jake frowned. “They fight and start pirootin’ like a pair of angry goats. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with his fortitude.”
“Maybe it’s not both of them,” grinned Nat. “Maybe he’s just pleasuring her? He doesn’t look that fit.”
“Enough!” Abigail hissed. “I don’t need you to analyze everything, and especially not this. The pictures my mind is painting are bad enough.”
The was a long period of quiet in which the three interlopers concealed behind the blackboard tried not to think too hard about the root cause of the groans and moans drifting through to the laboratory.
“Real friendly girl, your sister,” murmured Jake as Abigail started to color from the neck up. “I think we’d best take a seat. We could be here for a while.”
Bartholemew’s next announcement proved Jake wrong.
“Maddie, I’m going up for a bath. Why don’t you come with me? I need to clean off this prison stench before I look after you the way you deserve. I could do that thing you like again. You know the thing that excites you so much?”
“We could go back to bed,” purred Madeleine. “Why not? We are still newlyweds. We’ve got a lot of time to make up.”
“She’s lying to him to keep the peace,” murmured Abigail. “I know her too well. She still plans to leave, but she’s using sex to distract him from that.”
“Lucky dog,” muttered Nat. “I like to be distracted every now and again.”
“How about some champagne, too? Nothing like a few bubbles to get us back in the mood again.” Bartholemew’s voice echoed in the hallway. “There’s some in the larder in the kitchen. You fetch that, and I’ll draw the bath.”
“Of course,” Madeleine replied. “You’ll have to open it, though. I can never manage those things. They scare me so when they pop.”
They heard delicate, feminine footsteps patter through to the kitchen before they peered out from their concealment to watch her reach for the bottle, dressed only in a corset and petticoat. All three froze in unison behind the screen as they heard Bartholemew mount the stairs
“I’ll be right up,” called Madeleine as she swept back to the hall again. “Are the glasses in the display cabinet?”
The chinking of fine glass tinkled in the parlor as Madeleine retrieved the drinking vessels.
“Maddy,” Bartholemew called down the stairs. “Have you been playing with this?”
“Playing with what?”
“My Grove cells.”
“Huh?” Madeleine’s voice now came from the hall. “Your good what?”
“Not good, Grove. My batteries. My parallel connection board.”
“Honey, you’re just saying random words now. Whatever it is, I haven’t been near it. It sounds sciency, and I don’t touch that stuff. It’s icky and dirty.”
“Then who did? Dammit—” Bartholemew’s voice receded back into the depths of the house mumbling and complaining.
“Come on.” Nat ventured out from behind the screen. “I messed up his batteries to stop him charging the jar so easily. Let’s get up there. Why’s he looking at his batteries in the throes of passion?”
♦◊♦
They crept up the back stairs of the house knowing that they were likely to be discovered if they used the main staircase. It was a slow process, the bare wooden steps had to be individually checked for creaks and protests against the three interlopers creeping up to the first floor. They could hear Bartholemew in the bath, splashing around and relaxing, secure in the knowledge that his beautiful new wife was waiting for him in the bedroom.
They stopped as they neared the top landing obscured by the bend in the staircase as they heard Bartholemew’s voice call out. “Maddie? How about some champagne now? It’ll get us in a romantic mood.”
“Sure, honey.”
Abigail saw the swish of Madeleine’s white dressing gown, making her dart back into the gloom of the stairwell to hide from her sister.
“I can never open these things,” said Madeleine. “You’d better do it.”
The sound of Bartholemew rising from the bath was like the rising of the Kraken. The splooshing, dripping and wallowing filled the air as he stood up in the bathtub.
“Where’s my dressing gown? Give it here.”
There was a pause, then a pop as Madeleine’s tinkling laughter lit the room. “Oooh. It’s bubbling over. Catch it quick.”
“There.”
“To you. To the safe return of my beautiful bride.”
“I’m glad I’m home.”
“And this is your home. It’ll be whatever you want to make it. You can redecorate, if you want.”
“Really? I can?”
“I insist,” Bartholemew replied. “It’s so masculine here. I tried to have everything done before you got here, but it needs a woman’s touch. Spend as much as you like.”
“I guess it’s easy for a man to make promises to someone when he thinks they won’t survive to carry them out,” whispered Jake.
“Whatever it takes to make you more at home, my love. Why don’t you join me in the bath? I can refresh the water.” Bartholemew paused. “Here, I’ll put some of these scented bath salts in it. Aren’t they lovely? Lilacs and lily of the valley.”
“No. I’ve curled my hair today. It’ll muss it.”
“Who cares?” purred Bartholemew. “We’d be wet—naked—beautiful.” The halt before the man continued seemed to make the next sentence more unsavory. “You’d be moist in all the right places. It’d get us in the mood.”
“No.” Madeleine’s reply was unequivocal. “Come to bed.”
“Oooh, Maddie. Don’t be so bromidic. Come on, get in the bath.”
“I told you. I’ll mess my hair.”
“Maddie, I’m your husband and I’m telling you to get in the bath.”
“Really? You’re going to try that? Whoa! Put me down.” Maddie’s shrill shriek rent the air.
“Stay here.” Abigail gestured with her hand to the men as she broke cover. “Let’s see what I can get him to admit to.”
The water swished and splattered as Abigail stepped toward the doorway and held her Derringer. Bartholomew was just straightening up after depositing a struggling Madeleine in the water. “There. That’s not so bad is it?”
He kneeled and pulled up a floorboard.
“I’m soaking.” Madeleine’s voice spiraled in anger. “This dressing gown’s not meant to get wet with the ribbon still laced through it. It’ll be ruined.”
“Drop that.” Abigail stood at the bathroom door, her weapon raised. Bartholemew froze, still crouching by the loose plank in the floor where he was pulling out a long cable with ceramic handles. “One more move and I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”
Madeleine sat bolt upright in shock. “Abi? What are you doing? How did you get in here?”
Abigail stood her ground, staring at Bartholemew. “He’s trying to kill you, Maddie, but I’m not prepared to let him. Drop that wire.”
Madeleine frowned. “She’s my sister, David and she’s clearly gone insane.”
“Sister? You’ve got it all wrong.” Bartholemew smiled and released the cable but stopped dead at the metallic sound of the gun cocking. He started to his feet holding up his hands. “Why have you come sneaking in here like a thief? You’re welcome here. You’re family.”
“Your charm, such as it is, doesn’t work on me, and if you think I’ll let you kill my sister like you killed so many others, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Abi. What are you saying? Stop it. You’re raving like a lunatic.” Madeleine’s ungainly climb out of the bath was made even harder by the sodden nightclothes pulling her down and slopping around her ankles. She wobbled on one leg as the foot caught in the clinging folds before she disentangled it and stood dripping on the floor.
“He’s been married many times,” Abigail continued. “Every time to women who die quickly and suddenly, and only to women with money. You’re next, Maddie, and I’m not going to let that happen to you. I love you too much.”
“She’s gone mad, David. Just humor her. Abi, put that gun down, you don’t even know how to use it.”
“She doesn’t?” asked Bartholemew, lighting up with hope.
“I most certainly do, and if you move, you’ll find that out. Care to take the risk?” Abigail’s brow arched in challenge.
It appeared that he didn’t. He was prepared to mount a defense, though. “I’ve never killed anyone. How could you think such a thing?”
“How do you explain how young healthy women all suddenly died of heart failure?” Abigail demanded.
“You’ve been married before, David?”
“No.” Bartholemew’s head rattled from side to side in denial.
“He has.” Abigail kept her gun pointed at the man, noting the watchful glint in his eyes. “Under the names of Mitchell and Duffy. You are at least the third. There may be more. They all died the same way, Maddie. I have photographs to prove it. He also promised to marry another young woman while married to you. I can only imagine she was to be your replacement. ”
Madeleine gasped and glowered at her husband. “That’s where you were. You were with her.”
“No, he wasn’t.” A smile twitched at Abigail’s full lips. “I told her all about him and showed her the pictures. She unceremoniously showed him the door. He really was in jail, but they did die, Maddie.”
Madeleine’s green eyes widened. “Tell her she’s wrong David.”
“Of course she’s wrong.” He paused. “How did they die? Tell me. Tell us all. This is complete rubbish.”
“I always knew you were jealous of me, Abi, but I never thought you’d go as far as this.”
Abigail darted angry, brown eyes at her sopping sister. “Och, for heaven’s sake. I’m trying to save you. I’ve never been jealous of you in my life. I can’t say I’ve often been proud of you, either.” She pushed the metal nub of the gun forward as her rising emotions strengthened her accent. “I know who you are, Bartholemew, even if I don’t know your real name. I have photographs of Mitchell, and I can prove that you are one and the same. Not only that, I can prove how you kill.”
“I haven’t killed anyone.” He visibly gulped, the Adam’s apple rising and falling in his throat. “And so what if I changed my name? It’s not a crime. I owed money, and wanted a fresh start.”
“You were married under different names, David?” Madeleine’s voice hardened. “You never told me. How could you?”
“There wasn’t a mark on any of them. No poisons, nothing. And that Doc Morgan looked real hard. So put that gun away, darling, before I lose my temper with you. How can I help it if I’m just unlucky in love?”
“I’m not your darling, and this gun’s staying right where it is. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m like Maddie. You can’t manipulate me, and I will shoot you. In fact, I’ll be very happy to do so.”
The powerful calm in her words gripped the seething man.
“So, what now?” demanded Bartholemew as Abigail could see his flesh start to redden from the neck up as his anger grew. “All you’ve got is a series of unlucky coincidences. It’s not illegal to woo another woman while married. Lots of men do it. It’s not nice, but it’s not illegal.” His spreading smile was cold and penetrating as he examined her. “Are you here alone? Who knows you’re here?”
“I’m taking you to the police. Murder is a crime. So is attempted murder, and you’ll hang.”
“For what? For dropping my wife playfully in the bath? For having a few wives drop dead suddenly? You have to prove a crime took place and you don’t have a thing. Besides, you’re here on your own. Do you really think you can get me to the police station before I can overpower you?” His eyes narrowed, assessing her. “If you had any back up, they’d be the ones confronting me, not some weed of a woman. Even the police don’t believe you, or they’d be here.”
Abigail flicked up
a slim eyebrow, aware that he was playing with her mind. “Who says I’m on my own? Besides, how far can you run with a bullet in you? A shot and a woman’s scream should attract the law here quite quickly. This is a busy city with a police force. We’re not in the back of beyond.”
Bartholemew’s grin widened. “You’re not like your sister, are you? She would have buckled at that. You look like a bit like her facially. Beauty and a brain. What a combination.”
“She doesn’t look like me at all,” snapped Madeleine, her voice rising an octave. “She has black hair, and eyes like my father. She looks like the rough, farming side of the family.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Both sides were poor crofters, Maddie. Get off your high horse.”
“Girls, girls. Enough. I’m really not interested in your petty squabbles,” Bartholemew purred with condescension. He reached out an arm and grabbed Madeleine, pulling his struggling wife in front of him. “Right now, I’m more interested in how you are planning on shooting me in this tiny room without shooting your dim sister.”
“My sister is not dim. She’s simply spoiled and has never had to develop her brain.”
“Great defense, Abi.” Madeleine’s voice was getting higher with anger. “Let me go, David.”
“Well? What now? You go to the police and accuse me of flirting and bad luck? Just because a few women died quietly in their beds without a mark? Without being poisoned?”
“No, Mr. Bartholemew. I accuse you of murder and provide them with the proof. I’ve been working on that all day.”
“Proof? In a day.” He snorted with derision. “Better minds than yours have worked on it for months and been beaten.”
“Oh, yes? Didn’t you think that someone would tumble to you eventually? Or did you think you were so clever that no one else could ever be able to work it out? The jars, the salt? It was only a matter of time. There’s always a trace, Mr. Bartholemew. You just have to look in the right place to find it. It’s there in the bodies if you know what to look for.”
