Chapter Seventeen
Charity held her hand to her throat swallowing passed the lump of fear that had lodged there, her racing heartbeat beginning to ebb.
“I do apologize my dear I did not intend to startle you.” Dr. Phillips assured her as he took her trembling hand and raised it to his lips.
For some reason Charity had the impression from his voice that he was not entirely sincere, almost as if he was secretly laughing at her. Pulling her hand free and shuffling back slightly Charity asked, “Why are you here Dr. Phillips?”
He laughed low in his throat, “You sent for me my dear.”
“No I’m quite sure I did not. My note was only meant to explain my situation and for you not to concern yourself over my well being. It was not meant as an invitation. You could have been followed here putting my life and Dane’s life in danger.” She really was quite put out that the doctor could be so careless with her and Dane’s safety.
“But of course I am concerned for you that is why I am here, my dear.”
She didn’t miss that he ignored most of what she said, brushing aside her concerns that he was followed.
“How did you know to find me here, at the cottage I mean?”
Sounding a bit exasperated as if he tired of her questioning the doctor responded, “You explained it in the note you sent. How could you forget?”
Charity searched her memory and knew that he had just lied to her. She had not known their full destination, not until they had arrived here that rain soak day. There was no possible way she could have written that in her note.
She started a little when he put both hands on her upper arms and pulled her towards him saying, “You must have been so frightened and that’s why you can not recall what you said in your note to me.”
He pressed her close holding her head against his the heavy wool of his coat, “My poor darling. I am here for you now, let me take you away from this awful place. I will protect you, never again will you want for anything.”
Charity held herself stiff in his embrace as the realization of who this man really is came crashing in on her. The shape of his body, the feel of his arms around her, the French brandy on his breath and the unique colon he wore that she had smelt that cool crisp evening in the Dewalington gardens, only now it was mingled with another scent. Roses or to be more precise rose water.
The Shadow of Death held her within his grasp, of this Charity had no doubt. And she was quite certain the woman who had been intruding the cottage had to be nearby as well and there was only one woman that she knew of that used that particular scent of rose water. Maria Isadora Benavidez, the Spanish beauty that had been on Dane’s arm at the Dewalington ball.
What did all this mean? Had Dane brought her here knowing that Maria was close by, had he arranged it all so he could be near his lover, his mistress. Had he been the one to inform Dr. Phillips...no, L’ombre Du Trépas, Shadow of Death where she could be located? Did that mean Dane was a double agent, a traitor to his country? Had he been supplying secrets to the French all along?
No, that couldn’t be, why would the Shadow of Death seek to kill him if they worked together? Unless Dane had been playing both sides and the French found out about it and sent Dr. Phillips to eliminate him. Then fate stepped in as she inadvertently and quite literally stumbled upon the plot to kill Dane thus painting a target upon her own back. If Dane was a double agent then surely he would not wish her to survive to tell of her suspicions.
Yet a part of her, the part that had fallen in love could not believe Dane capable of treason and murder. He had spoken with sincerity of his great love for country and family and she could not believe that a man that spoke with such depth of feeling could betray everyone important in his life much less his country.
Still he was not here, he had left her alone again this morning. His angry criticism and humiliating mocking of her abilities still rang clear in her ears. Yes she was alone, truly alone but that did not mean she was going to curl up and die. She would find a way to survive this, a way to escape.
First though she could not let Dr. Phillip suspect that she knew the truth, knew who he really is. Pulling out of his embrace and ignoring the fear that had her insides quaking she invited him inside for tea.
“Splendid idea my darling, I am quite parched,” he told her though his voice did not sound as if he found the idea appealing.
Dr. Phillips, no she must remember to not think of him as the doctor who rescued her from the horrors of Bedlam. He was the Shadow of Death, the French assassin known for the deaths of countless people. He set his empty cup on the table with a thud that make her jump in her seat opposite him. Bristling at his light chuckle she reached for the tea tray intending to take it to the counter.
“Leave that,” he said sharply stalling her hand which began to tremble.
Taking it from her he lightened his tone but she could still hear the underlying tones of contempt and disrespect. Had they always been there and she was just too naive and trusting to hear them?
“It grows late, we must be leaving.”
“Leaving?” Her heart leapt back to her throat, if they left the cottage she would be totally at his mercy.
“Yes as I told you earlier I intend to take you away from this wretched little cabin. You will be much safer with me.” He rose pulling her out of her seat with him. “Run along and pack a small bag, just enough for a day or two, and then we will be on our way. I’ll wait here for you.”
Her legs felt like lead and she slow to do his bidding so he turned her giving her a slight nudge toward the door leading into the parlor. Charity let the door swing closed behind her as she just stood trembling. Blood roared in her ears and her lungs pained her from the difficulty she had breathing.
Suddenly she knew this was her chance to get away. Instead of climbing the stairs having decided there wasn’t even time to fetch her cloak Charity raced on silent slippers to the front door. She remembered from the day the arrived a shed of some sort not far from the front of the cottage. If she could make it there undetected she may have a chance to hide among the trees surrounding the property.
Carefully and quietly unlatching the door heart pounding relentlessly, her mouth was dry and palms sweaty as she squeezed through the opening just wide enough to fit her small frame through. She turned around and silently closed the portal not wanting to leave it open to give him a clue as to her escape. He would go searching for her above stairs first giving her those few extra precious minutes.
She started to feel elated, her heart began to soar, her plan was working. She took four steps forward in the direction of the shed when suddenly she ran into something soft and warm, or rather someone. Before Charity could even register her surprise a fist grabbed her by the hair yanking her head back. The strong overpowering scent of rose water causing her stomach to roll.
“Though you could outsmart the good doctor, did you? It takes more that a pathetic little English whore like you.” The woman’s voice heavy with a Spanish accent mocked her as she tighten her grip in Charity’s tresses. Instinctively her hand threw up to grasp the other woman’s wrist but her arm was caught and twisted high behind her back, pain shooting through her shoulder causing Charity to cry out.
Suddenly Maria released her hold on Charity’s hair only to wrap her hand around her throat and squeeze while snarling in her ear.
“I know not why he wants you alive but I have no such desire.”
The pressure on Charity’s windpipe increased to where she could no longer draw a breath. Her lungs began to scream for air, and she felt light headed from the lack of oxygen. With her free hand she clawed at the hand strangling her but to no avail, the hold was too strong.
The Spaniard continued, contempt dripping from every word, “You are a degradation to mankind, a blemish on society. It will be my pleasure to be rid of you like a piece of garbage.”
Charity was close to blacking out, she felt her body going limp, her hand fall to her side. The fight, the will to survive left her. A booming loud voice in front of her jolted her back.
“Maria unhand her this instant.”
The woman continued to squeeze for several more seconds before shoving Charity into the arms of the Shadow of Death. Gasping for air her lungs screaming Charity coughed trying to clear her airways, her throat felt raw and bruised. She clung to the man she was certain intended on killing her but she refused to collapse at their feet.
His lean muscles bunched, his body jumped slightly and Charity heard the sound of skin meeting skin. Maria’s small cry of pain told her that he had struck the woman. Charity did not feel sorry for her.
His voice was cold and menacing when he spoke with a perfect French accent, “I will kill you if you again touch mon doux amour.”
∞∞∞
Dane threw himself into the saddle and would have raced out of the mews had Daniel not put a stalling hand on the bridle. Handing Dane his pistol he looked up worry etched on his face.
“If...when you find her safe and well bring her to the Quacking Gull, on West Cliff Street she will be safe there. I must join my men and continue the search for the drop of location. I will send word to the Quacking Gull as soon as I can. Godspeed my friend.”
Daniel slapped the horse on the rump the same time Dane dug his heels in sending the animal leaping out of the mews. Iron shod hooves slammed into the cobblestone lined streets as Dane weaved this way out of the town, his heart pounding in rhythm. Pushing the steed hard they climbed the escarpments both man and animal straining and breathing hard. All Dane could think of was his need to get to Charity, the powerful desire to hold her safe in his arms. To protect her from Maria Benavidez and this Dr. Phillips or Philippe Delandine who was obviously a French spy or worse. He now suspected that the man was none other than the infamous French assassin the Shadow of Death.
Dane’s heart lurched in his chest when another thought came to him. Charity had lived with the man for years, was she aware of his true identity all along? Was she working with the man to betray her country? Was the story of his rescuing from Bedlam one big fabrication they made up to allow her to stay in his home so they could plot together?
No, no it couldn’t be possible. He had to believe that Charity was too pure, she placed to high a value on life to be involved with the French assassin. And yet she had spoken of her desire to move to Paris, did she have a greater love for that city than for London. Did her loyalties lay across the channel?
Dane couldn’t think of a reason for the Frenchman have for being involved with Charity? Unless he was an actual doctor who practised his craft when he wasn’t off murdering political figures or members of the peerage and had in a moment of rare compassion taken pity on Charity and rescued her from the horrors of Bedlam. Dane found it difficult to reconcile the tender caring doctor that Charity spoke of and the ruthless assassin he suspected the good doctor to be.
Staying in the deep shadows and sticking close to the larger trees Dane moved until he was close enough to clearly see the backside of the cottage. Charity had done the wash, sheets still hung from the line flapping in the breeze, the sight of them reminding him of how beautiful she looked laid across his bed. Shaking her image out of his head he waited hoping to see her walk out of the cottage to collect the dry laundry but after ten minutes and she hadn’t appeared Dane slowly moved around to the front of the cottage still keep out of sight.
Was Charity alone inside the cottage or was L’ombre Du Trépas and Maria inside with her? His eyes flicked from window to window but he could detect no movement inside. A bright flash of color caught his attention, there just a few feet in front of the door laid the pretty green ribbon Charity had used to tie back her hair that morning. He remembered it from when he held her head in his hands as he kissed her and how it had fallen to his bedroom floor when he strip the clothes from her lush body.
Looking deeper into the shadows cast by the eves he noticed that the front door hung open a few inches. It was then that he knew Charity was gone, she would never leave the door open like that, she was always so meticulous with the smallest details. Rushing inside Dane was greeted with a sight that made his heart leapt into his throat and lodge there.
The furniture askew, a chair tipped over along with the small table that sat between, the low table that sat before sette was smashed as if someone had fallen upon it. The reading lamp shattered, the whale oil saturated into the floorboards and the book had had been reading the night before was across the room laying open on the floor as if someone had tossed it. His breath caught when he noticed small brownish red spots staining the rug. Blood!
Racing up the stairs he found her bedchamber to be in equal disorder with her valise missing. That gave him a bit of relief knowing that they would not have packed a bag for Charity if they intended on killing her. In the kitchen he saw the tea tray with two empty cups, the teapot long since grown cold. She had entertain him and Dane had to wondered if his suspicions were true or if not had she come to the conclusion that the man she considered a friend was not who she thought. She must have figured it out at some point or else she would not have put up such a fight as the damage in the parlor indicated.
Standing in the middle of the mess Dane raked his hands through his hair, a million different thoughts racing through his mind. All he could think of was how terribly frightened Charity must be and how much he wanted to wrap his arms around her keeping her safe.
His only option was to return to the Quacking Gull on West Cliff Street and see if Daniel had left word. Storming outside he cursed himself a hundred times over for being such a fool. He should never have left Charity alone to fend for herself. He had promised that he would protect her and he had failed, failed miserably. He should have turned back this morning and gone back inside and used whatever means necessary to convince her that they were good together and that a real marriage was indeed what he wanted. He should have opened his heart to her. Now he may never have the chance to express his true feelings.
He knew the doctor intended to use Charity as a means of luring him into a trap but what if there was more to his motivations than that. What if the man after having Charity in his home that long decided he wanted her there still. He could easily sail off to Spain or France with her and she would be defenseless to stop him and Dane may never see her again.
God his heart ached with just the thought.
∞∞∞
It seemed like they had been riding for hours. Charity’s body ached from the many bruises and scratches she received when she had struggled with Maria after her second failed attempt of flee. She could only imagine what Dane would think when he saw the scattered broken furniture.
Philippe, as he now insisted she call him, sat in the saddle behind her but she refused to relax against him no matter how exhausted she was. Her cheek stung from where he had struck her ending her fight against the Spanish woman riding alongside them. Never in her wildest imaginings did she think the gentle compassionate Dr. Phillips capable of such violence. He had sworn to keep life sacred as a doctor and yet he was the most notorious assassin of all time. How could she be so foolish to have trusted him. She had always thought that despite her lack of vision she was still a good judge of character but now she knew better and it made her question everyone she had ever known.
Maria’s high pitched whining cut into Charity’s thoughts, the woman had not stopped complaining since they left the cottage and Charity could sense that Philippe was coming to the end of his patients.
The tangy scent of sea water filled Charity’s nostrils and soon she could hear waves lapping at the shore. Realizing that they were beginning their descent from the escarpments above the angle becoming dangerously steep Charity was forced to accept the doctor’s help in way of an arm around her waist to prevent her from falling from the horse. She suppressed a shiver of revolution when his hand splayed across her ribs just under her breast.
“Rest easy mon doux amour. I will assure your safety,” the blackguard whispered in her ear.
“Stop calling me that. I am not your love,” she spat out between clenched teeth as she slammed her elbow into his ribs. The sudden movement causing the horse to stumble slightly on the loose stones.
His answering growl, “Be still before you send us both plunging to our death,” menacing and chilled her ire.
Nothing more was said until they reached the bottom of their descent where Charity could hear the clamor of many voices over the washing tide. Bringing the horse to a halt Philippe dismounted dragging Charity down after him. Pulling her across the beach, her slippered feet sinking into the gritty sand he called over his shoulder to the Spanish woman following close behind, reverting back to a perfect English gentleman’s accent.
“Maria, you will stay ashore and oversee the loading of the shipment once it arrives. Only when the last crate of weapons are aboard will you be permitted aboard yourself.”
Maria ran to catch him by the arm halting the progress, “Non! Non, I will not. You promised me we would be together.”
Switching back to French he responded with the smooth tones of a lover, “And we will mon cheri. As soon as the shipment is aboard. It is a long journey across the channel, there will be plenty of time for us to be together then.”
“But why must you take her. She is of no importance. Kill her now.”
The slap happened so quick that Maria would not have been able to defend against it. Charity heard her fall to the sand and seconds later Philippe stooped to drag her to her feet snarling out a villainous warning in perfect English.
“Defy me again and I will spill your blood right here on the sand.”
He spun away from the speechless Spaniard dragging Charity along with him, she nearly had to run to keep up with his ground eating strides.
She could hear the sound of the waves getting closer and realized he must intend on taking her aboard a ship. If she allowed him to she would never be able to escape once aboard. Pulling free of his hold she picked up her skirts to run but had only taken a couple steps before he caught her by the arm. She started screaming hoping there was someone among the men on shore that would come to her aid.
“Scream all you want there is no one here who will help you. They all work for me and are loyal to France. If anything they would defile you repeatedly before throwing you overboard to die in the frigid waters.”
With that said he bend shoving his shoulder into her abdomen before picking her up. Charity pounded on his back with her fists, kicking and screaming as he moved to the shoreline where he was soon sloshing through the water. After a moment she was unceremoniously dumped in the bottom of a small rowboat. Flinging herself to the side she almost ended head first into the water if he had not grabbed her by the hair and viciously pulled her back inside, the tiny boat in danger of tipping over as she fought him.
“Careful my love. You do not want to drown before the your lover arrives to rescue you.”
Charity ceased her struggles as the implication of his words sunk in. How did he know Dane was her lover? Was it all conjecture from the time her and Dane had spent together recently or had he been there watching the cottage all morning had seen something that was meant to be private?
As the small boat rock with each stroke of the oar taking them farther from shore Charity’s heart ached with the knowledge that she may never see Dane again. She would never feel his soft kiss, smell his manly scent or hear his warmer than honey voice. Charity was sick to think of the last words they share had been ones of anger rather than the sweet words of love.