Chapter Twenty
Benedict ducked behind a stack of barrels and watched the comings and goings from the various warehouses along the waterfront there. There were small boats coming and going on the canals, mostly hauling goods and passengers between Bath and Bristol. It wasn’t difficult to ascertain which one was housing things other than simple merchandise. One building, out of all those he surveyed, remained completely quiet. No one came or went from it and it remained locked up tight.
“That’s the most likely location, I think,” Benedict said. “This time of morning should be bustling and not a soul is stirring there.”
“It’s certainly suspect,” Middlethorp agreed. “I asked, under the guise of being a merchant looking to expand my operation, who owned it and the gentlemen working in the establishments next door could not tell me. They stated that they’ve not seen anyone entering or exiting from it in ages. It had belonged to a man by the name of Carstairs but, apparently, he lost it on the turn of a card. No one knows to whom.”
“I’m going in… I’ll slip through the alley and around to the back. You keep watch on the front door in case someone comes to move her.”
Middlethorp nodded his agreement. Benedict remained concealed behind barrels and crates but kept moving forward until, at last, he could duck around the side of the building. There were two windows in the upper part, and someone had, thankfully, left several crates in the alley. Stacking them carefully, Benedict climbed up until he could reach the windowsill. The wound at his shoulder burned like fire, but he ignored it as he pulled himself up and through the narrow opening.
The window itself led to nowhere. There was no floor, no room, only open space, save for a few beams below him. Lowering himself carefully onto one of those beams, he broke out in a sweat as it groaned beneath his weight. There was a small staircase and a single room across the way. The door was shut and barred. Even from a distance, he could see the heavy bar in place. If she was inside the building, that was no doubt where she would be.
Every step across the narrow beam, his booted feet sliding in the dust and grime that had settled there through the years, had him gritting his teeth. When at last he reached the railing at the top of the narrow stairs, he let out a long, slow breath. It hissed between his teeth as sweat dripped from his brow.
As he reached for the heavy bar that held the door fast, Benedict uttered a quick prayer beneath his breath. He didn’t know that God had any interest in hearing from him, but he said it just the same. He prayed that he would find at least one of them safe and unharmed behind that door.
*
Elizabeth had become attuned to every noise, every single creak and groan of the ancient building. She’d known the minute they left her there, when the building had gone eerily silent. She’d heard the rats within the walls. She’d heard the shouts of the workmen in the streets below. For some time, she’d shouted back at them, screaming for help. But no one had heard her or if they had, they had not bothered to answer.
Too afraid to lie down, afraid of falling asleep and terrified of the scurrying sounds within the walls, she’d sat perched on the edge of that dirty mattress for hours it seemed. Of course, the light coming through the small, dirty window high above her showed that it was still only morning. It was fear that made her feel she’d been there so long.
The slight shuffling she heard, followed by the creaking of the beams that extended above her prompted her to leap to her feet. There was little in the room in the way of weapons but a single floorboard she’d managed to pry up with her bare hands. Gripping it with all her might, she braced herself on the other side of the door and waited for whoever was about to come through it.
The grating sound of metal moving signaled that the bar was being lifted. When the door swung inward, she raised the board, prepared to bring it down with all the force she could muster. At the very last second, recognition dawned and she managed to narrowly avoid striking her rescuer.
As she tossed the board aside, Benedict grabbed her, pulled her to him and held her tightly.
“You came,” she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. “You came for me.”
“Of course, I came for you. Why the devil did you think I wouldn’t?”
She looked up at him and the tears she’d managed to hold at bay since being tossed into the back of that wagon began to fall. “Because no one else would have.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening, and then he offered her a vow. “Wherever you are, I will always follow. I promise you that, Elizabeth. Nothing will change that.”
It was a promise he could not keep. He meant to, and it was not his sincerity that she questioned, but the reality of their society, because she would never be accepted and never be forgiven for her previous fall from grace. “Even if you are Lord Vale?”
“I’m Benedict Mason. They can tack on any titles and names they like, but I’m still me. I was still raised poor, dirty and hungry, and I still run a gaming hell that not too long ago doubled as a brothel… I’ll never be an aristocrat, Elizabeth, no matter what they call me.”
He meant it. She knew that he did. Every time she’d questioned his honesty, it had been more about her past than about his character. He’d been honest from the start.
“What about Mary?”
“She’s not here,” he said. “There is no other space in this building where a person might be kept. But we have an idea where to find her. I’ll get you back to Lady Vale and then I’ll set out for her.”
A horrible thought pressed in upon her then. Guilt wracked her. “It will be my fault if you don’t. If you hadn’t been injured trying to save me, if you hadn’t had to take yet more time to rescue me again, you might have already found her! Oh, Benedict—”
“If I hadn’t rescued you, I wouldn’t have found myself in Lady Vale’s care. That was a stroke of luck, Elizabeth, not misfortune. I’ve reconnected with a family that was lost to me before. Whether I find Mary today or not, I know who took her, and that’s the first step in tracking her down,” he insisted. “And there is only one person at fault here. It’s Lord Harrelson. He’s behind all of it.”
Elizabeth gasped with shock. It was Freddy after all. “Lord Wendell Harrelson?”
Benedict frowned at her. “You know him?”
“When I spoke to you of my indiscretion before… his name was Fredrick Hamilton. His mother is Lord Harrelson’s sister,” she whispered. “Oh, dear God! I cannot believe that Freddy would stoop to such levels. I suspected it was him because I couldn’t imagine it would be anyone else… but I never dreamed… you must be very careful, Benedict. They are ruthless people. I never knew how ruthless until I refused Freddy’s offer. He told me that he would see me ruined and he did. There was nowhere I could go that the whispers did not follow me. It wasn’t until Mr. Middlethorp that I found an employer who was willing to truly look past them!”
His expression turned grim. “You’ll never have to worry about them again. I swear it. Let’s get you out of here.”
They turned toward the door but never made it out. The same large man who’d locked her in that morning was there. His fist slammed into Benedict’s face, sending him sprawling backward. Elizabeth screamed. Scrambling backward, she retrieved the board she’d pried loose earlier. The man looked at it and laughed, thinking it was an ineffectual weapon. From his vantage point, he couldn’t see the nails still sticking out of the other side.
Before she could even take a swing at him, Benedict was up. He moved toward the man in a low crouch, slamming his shoulders into the larger man’s abdomen. They tumbled backward through the door. Wood splintered. A short, tight scream split the silence.
Elizabeth rushed forward, her heart in her throat, thinking that Benedict had fallen to the hard, stone floor below. But as she stepped onto the landing, he was there, hoisting himself back up onto the wooden planks. She swayed and managed to catch herself, planting her hands firmly on the wall.
“Do not faint,” he said. “We haven’t time. I can’t imagine he’s Harrelson’s only employee.”
They rushed down the stairs. The narrow wooden steps had become even more rickety minus their upper railing and appeared in danger of collapse with each step they took. Rushing outside into the pale morning sunlight, Elizabeth was heedless of the fact that she was in her nightdress and wrapper. She wanted nothing more than to be safely ensconced once more in Lady Vale’s townhouse, surrounded by servants and without a moment’s privacy to herself.
Mr. Middlethorp was waiting. Somehow, by means she surely did not wish to know, he had procured a small gig for them. Elizabeth let out a mild squeak of alarm as Mr. Middlethorp grasped her arm and hauled her up beside him. Benedict climbed onto the back. Without a word, Middlethorp cracked the lash over the horses with enough skill that it never even came close to touching their flesh. Immediately, the cart surged forward. Behind them, she could hear the commotion and assumed that it probably had something to do with the manner in which he’d obtained the vehicle.
“I don’t think you’re a gentleman either,” she said.
Middlethorp smiled. “That may be the kindest thing any of my employees has ever said of me, Miss Masters. Thank you.”
*
Zella Hopkins opened the door to her home and let herself inside. It was dark and cold, as all the curtains were drawn and the day servants had been dismissed. No fires had been laid, no bricks warmed. The house was as silent as a tomb.
Harrelson followed her inside. He intended to lay down the law and she intended to let him or at least grant that illusion.
“I need whiskey,” she said abruptly. “If you mean to have this chat now, I need fortification first.”
“It’s barely past ten,” he pointed out.
“I wouldn’t care if the rooster had just crowed,” she snapped back. Crossing the narrow hall to her small study, she opened the door and stepped inside. Her gaze fell to the desk and her eyes fluttered closed in relief for only a split second. The ledger and the letter had been taken. Providing that information was the only small step available to her to possibly atone for her sins. It wouldn’t be enough and hell was surely waiting, but at least she felt better about the going.
Opening a cabinet behind the desk, she retrieved a bottle still sealed with dark red wax. She placed it on the desk and put a glass next to it.
“And why are you not drinking from the bottle that is already opened?” Harrelson asked. He was a suspicious man with a nasty turn of mind that had served him only too well over the years.
“Because it’s watered down. I’m not wasting good whiskey on the fools who darken my door. They wouldn’t know the difference anyway,” she answered evenly as she carefully opened the bottle and deposited a healthy amount in her glass. She lifted it and took a deceptively small amount into her mouth for the long swallow she portrayed. If her deception failed, she’d be free of him regardless. But her plan, all along, had been to take him with her.
He smiled cooly. “Well, now that I can be certain you aren’t trying to poison me, I’ll take a glass as well.”
“But it’s barely past ten,” she answered in a mockingly sweet tone. “Surely a gentleman such as you would not indulge in strong spirits so early in the day? Only us lower class folk would be so crude!”
He strode toward her, grasped her wrist and took the glass from her hand. “You forget yourself, Zella. I am not the type to tolerate your word games and sharp tongue. Remember that.”
She watched as he took a healthy swallow from the glass. It wasn’t enough, but it was a nice start. Retrieving a second glass, she poured another healthy measure into it and began sipping, slow and steady. She didn’t mean for either of them to make it out of that room alive but she wanted to watch him shuffle off the mortal coil before giving it up herself.
“I do hope your little Irishman managed to successfully carry out the abduction of Miss Masters this time,” Harrelson said, settling himself into one of the chairs. “I would hate to disappoint Freddy again. He’s such a dear boy and has never asked a thing of me till this. She fair broke his young heart when she refused him.”
“She refused to marry him?” Zella asked in mock incredulity. She didn’t care, honestly. Women, in her opinion, had the right to refuse a man anything. They seldom agreed and seldom accepted the refusal in her experience.
Harrelson laughed. “Oh, no! Never that. He has a wife. Quiet, meek, biddable… and an heiress. Miss Masters was his first love, so to speak. He’d thought to keep her as his mistress after he wed but she proved less than amenable to that offer. And while meek, biddable heiresses are certainly a boon for the family coffers, I think they leave something to be desired in the marriage bed.”
“There are other women,” Zella replied. “Women who would gladly accept his offer. Why torment the girl this way?”
“Because she wounded his pride,” Harrelson said. “We are an unforgiving lot. You’re very lucky, Zella, that I hold you in such affection. Otherwise, this little escape you planned would have gone very badly for you, indeed.”
Zella kept her gaze completely impassive as he raised his glass to her and then took another generous swallow of the liquid it contained. When he lowered it, the glass was very nearly drained.
“I wouldn’t say it went so badly. I’ll be free of you soon enough… one way or another.” Her expression was calm, her voice utterly serene, but inside she was dancing and shouting with joy.
“What a curious thing for you to say.” His voice cracked a bit at the end of his statement and he cleared his throat. When it did not relieve the pressure he was feeling, pressure she recognized because it was beginning to impact her as well, his eyes widened. “What have you done, Zella?”
“Something I should have done long ago… this world is a better place without you in it.”
“You drank from the same glass!” Harrelson protested, wheezing as he did so.
“We’re both dying, you bastard. I just sipped slower in order to watch you go first,” she said.
Harrelson tried to rise from the chair, but he stumbled, pitched to and fro and then sank to his knees on the carpet. His fingers clawed at his neckcloth and collar, pulling them away so forcefully that he drew blood from his own mottling flesh.
“Bitch,” he hissed, because his voice had been reduced to little more than that.
Zella said nothing, she simply took another sip and watched him collapse. He writhed there for a few moments, his body convulsing as he tried desperately to draw air into his failing lungs. When at last he stilled, his face pale and lips blue, Zella simply closed her eyes. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t try to escape what she had come to view as her destiny. The end of her life was a small sacrifice to ensure that his evil was eradicated from the world. There was no more fear. Death could not possibly equal the suffering that he had inflicted on her for so many years.
A gentle smile curved her lips as she thought of Dylan and drew her last shallow breath. She pictured him on a ship, sailing for America and a new life there.