Chapter Thirty-One
Adam slept for an entire day.
When he woke, he found himself in a large house in the middle of a large estate outside of Truro. Bishop’s Wood – the home of Sir Daniel and Lady Abigail. He was ravenous. The tea and pastries brought up to him were enough to slake his thirst and ease the worst of his hunger as he shaved. In the mirror, he watched the footmen behind him prepare a bath. When he was dressed, he would have breakfast proper downstairs.
The straight blade glinted in the sun shining through the window. Adam recalled the threat he’d made to Wilkinson to slit his own throat. It was a threat made in desperation. Would he have done it to save Olivia’s life?
Once he had waded through the fear of mortality that all sane men have but only cowards fear, the answer was still the same.
He would have done it.
Adam knew he loved Olivia more than his own life. He loved her thoughtfulness, her compassion, and her desire to right wrongs. He admired her quick wit and bravery.
The thought of how close he came to letting her go still hurt like a punch to the gut. But now, he was certain of his feelings, ready to commit to a wife, a home…a family. This time, he would be a father in more than name only. He would be there to see his children grow. They would know him and his love.
It was the only thing he could do to honor Christopher, wherever his lost boy was – to be there for the children who came after him, the father he wished he could have been for his son.
But after this ordeal, would Olivia feel the same? He hoped that in Lady Abigail she could find a confidante and a way through the shadow-world they inhabited.
He would propose marriage again. Properly. He’d been a fool to accept Olivia’s offer of intimacy without it. Never again would she be in doubt of where his heart lay.
In the dining room, he found Sir Daniel filling his plate from the array of dishes from the sideboard. He was alone.
“Help yourself, old man,” he replied, taking his plate to the table. “If you’re looking for Miss Collins, she’s asked for breakfast in her room this morning.”
Adam speared a slice of ham. “I haven’t seen her since…how is she?”
“Stronger than you think.”
As Adam recalled the day he held her in his arms, soaked to the skin and covered with blood, his newly awakened appetite withered.
“I know she said she was unhurt…but there was so much blood.”
“None of it was hers – she just has a few scratches and bruises, that’s all.”
He joined Ridgeway at the table and made an attempt at the potatoes and ham.
“You know, if anyone can understand the ordeal she’s been through, it’s Abigail,” said Sir Daniel.
Adam forked a slice of ham into his mouth, keeping his attention fixed on his plate to prevent his disbelief from showing. Ridgeway was talking about Abigail? The Lady Abigail? She was the type of woman to declare mismatched gloves a monumental disaster.
Apparently, his caution wasn’t enough. “You shouldn’t underestimate my wife, old man. One day I’ll tell you how she broke into a French lunatic asylum to rescue me.”
The tone in his voice suggested Ridgeway wasn’t joking and, when Adam raised his head to see, the man’s expression showed no amusement.
“Don’t miscalculate the strength of women, and never that of a woman in love. Your Miss Collins will be fine and, if I judge her right, she won’t appreciate being coddled. But since you’re on the mend, I have a few questions that need answers, so I’ll arrange a horse to be saddled to take us back to Kenstec House.”
*
Olivia tied the robe around her tightly and pressed a hand to the cloth that covered her still drying hair. She looked from the window and watched two familiar figures mount horses in the yard below. Adam was the leaner of the pair. His fair hair glinted in the sun.
She touched a finger to the window, silently hoping he might glance up and see her. He and Sir Daniel rode off without a second glance. For some strange reason, it felt like a slight.
Another presence emerged behind her. Olivia glanced back to see Lady Abigail with a soft expression on her face. It departed as the woman became aware of Olivia’s attention.
“Don’t worry about them. Daniel won’t keep him away too long; they’ll be home for supper. You can join us if you feel up to it.”
Olivia moved away from the window and unwound the cloth from her hair to let it dry by the fire. As she handled it, she watched the flames highlight threads of red and gold in what she always considered dull and ordinary brown – certainly, her hair was not the attention-catching white-blonde of Lady Abigail’s.
“You’ve yet to talk about your ordeal,” said the woman. She picked up a comb and gestured for Olivia to sit.
“Perhaps I don’t want to.”
“But that wouldn’t be the truth, would it?”
Olivia closed her eyes. She preferred the haughty Lady Abigail, the woman who embraced her own status and wealth, instead of this one who was kind and sympathetic. Too much of this kindness from her and she would fall to tears.
“I took a man’s life. I could hang for it.”
“No, you won’t. You won’t even face an inquest. Besides, Peter Fitzgerald brought his death upon himself, did he not? He attacked and almost killed you. If you had not defended yourself, what do you think might have happened to you?”
Olivia snatched the comb from Abigail’s hand and wrenched it through her slowly drying hair in savage strokes in an attempt to do anything other than cry.
“Come now, put those tears away. There’s nothing worse than self-pity. Would you rather wallow as a pathetic victim of circumstance or be the mistress of your own future alongside a good man who loves you?”
“What would you know? Living here in safety and luxury, among people who cater to your every whim?”
“Ah, anger. Excellent. A much better emotion than pity. I can use anger; I can’t use pity. What is it you’d like me to tell you? That I had to resort to violence to save my own life – to save the life of my husband? That I know what it’s like to find everything completely upended, forced to live on the edge of terror? I can if you like, but I shan’t – a pissing contest is what the baser sort of men do.”
The heat of the fire was only slightly more scalding than Abigail’s censure. Olivia turned her head to comb her hair from the other side.
“Had you wounded him instead, Peter Fitzgerald would still face a traitor’s death.” Abigail rose from the dressing table stool. “But if you still feel you have to make penance, then do it for the living. Find something that gives your ordeal meaning. Justify the reason why Providence decided to spare your life instead of the solicitor.”
Olivia fought the words, hating Lady Abigail because she knew what she said to be the truth.
“Think about what I’ve said,” she continued as she moved to leave the room. “There’s a future to be lived if you want it. But only if you’re truly as brave as you’ve already shown yourself capable of being.”
*
The events of two evenings past seemed an age ago, but here he was, attention drawn to the dried blood on the bent iron spike that had been part of the guard rail on Kenstec’s tower top. Adam hadn’t realized Dunbar had stabbed himself as he fell. How odd that a certain measure of pity should arise, now that the man was dead.
He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. Coming to the house was useful. Sparks of recollection, illuminated as though by lightning, flashed through his memory. Adam relayed all of it to Ridgeway as it came to him.
Ridgeway shook his head. “Something doesn’t add up.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you; we’ve been through it twice.”
“I know. The fault isn’t yours. We’ll go through it one more time and I’ll parrot back to you what you’ve said to me. It’s clear there’s something I’m not seeing.”
It was the last thing Adam felt like doing but he trudged down the ladder and they crossed to the attic room where Harold had been held.
“Olivia handed you the key,” said Ridgeway. “While she lit the lamps, you opened this door.”
Adam nodded.
“When you went in, you found him with his hands bound together. Bound behind?”
Adam shook his head. “No, in front.”
Ridgeway went meticulously through each step until they were back on the roof once more.
“How long would you say it was between Lieutenant Bickmore leaving you and when you saw him being shot at?”
“No more than a minute or two, why?”
His question was ignored, and annoyance started to bubble in Adam.
“Did you see Bickmore’s body after he was shot?” Ridgeway asked.
This time Adam didn’t hide his irritation. “No, he was shot and he went down. After that, I was too busy trying to stop Dunbar from killing me and Olivia.”
Ridgeway glanced over the edge to the grass below. There was a shadow in the lawn.
“Dunbar certainly left an impression anyway.”
“What the hell are you driving at?”
“What I’m saying is Bickmore didn’t. There was no body, no blood. We searched the house and immediate grounds and the woods surrounding for good measure in case he’d crawled away. There was no trace of the lieutenant at all.”
Adam was aware he was staring down at where he’d last seen Harold, but couldn’t stop himself. He shook his head slowly and, despite his head for heights, began to feel vertiginous. He returned to the hatch and looked down to the ladder into the room below. He ignored the rungs and straddled the ladder’s side rails to slide to the floor below.
“You’re wrong,” he called back up to Ridgeway. “Your men weren’t thorough enough. They’ve made a mistake. If Harold was injured, he could still get away and your men might have missed him.”
The older man joined him. “We weren’t so late getting here that we didn’t round up three of Wilkinson’s men in the house. If Bickmore was wounded and got away, he would have sought treatment. My men have spoken to every doctor, barber and midwife in the county. No one has presented with a gunshot wound. And he’s not lying dead anywhere around here, we’ve covered every inch.”
“So what is it you’re suggesting?” Adam had to ask the question, but he was also afraid he knew the answer. He waited for Ridgeway to give voice to niggling doubts he himself had been ignoring ever since Olivia raised them.
He knew what he saw when the second shot rang out. He knew Harold Bickmore. And yet…
“There’s more, if you’re ready to hear it.”
Adam squeezed his eyes shut. “Go on.”
“I’ve spoken to the captain of the Andromeda. It returned to port with a dozen men in the brig. They’ll face a court martial for attempted mutiny at sea. At the least three of the men have told the same story about being angry at your treatment. They’ve refused to name the instigator and, since I’ve vouched for you, there’s only one other man it can be.”
Adam scoffed. “If you and Captain Sinclair suspected Harold, why wasn’t he arrested?”
“Because Harold Bickmore hasn’t been part of the Royal Navy since April. He resigned his commission the day after you quit. There’s a reward for his arrest.”
Ridgeway frowned at his reaction. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Adam’s head was still spinning despite being down off the roof. He gave Ridgeway a look of contempt and half-stumbled down the main staircase to stride out on the lawn to the spot between two garden beds where he saw Harold fall.
A few moments later, he heard Ridgeway behind him.
“C’est la guerre,” he said.
That’s war. That much French Adam did know.
“There’s still much to learn. Both here and at the cottage we found an absolute trove of documents my wife will ask your Miss Collins to help translate for us. And we’re confident Wilkinson and his gang will talk. They usually do in the end.”
Ridgeway dropped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “This is as large as our victories get, Lieutenant – accept them as they come and move on.”
Adam raised his head heavenwards toward the trees still in their full summer glory.
“I’ll see you back in the house.”
Ridgeway nodded in acknowledgement and walked away.
Adam knew he should go back to the house, too, and move forward with his life the best he could. But the fact he had so utterly mistaken about Harold made him wonder what else he was wrong about.
He recalled the years he and Harold spent at sea – as comrades-in-arms and, despite their difference in wealth and class, friends, too. He thought he knew the man as well as he knew himself. What did that say about Adam Hardacre’s judgment? How could be possibly trust his instincts on anything?
His Miss Collins…Ridgeway was much more certain about that fact than he was at this particular moment.
Olivia.
He’d barely had two minutes alone with her since their ordeal.
He loved her more than life itself. It was worth the risk to open his heart and share it with another. He would ask her to marry him, if she’d have him.
And there was one more piece of his past to be resolved before he could move on, and he needed Olivia by his side to do it.