CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“La-dy West-leigh. It’s morning, time to wake up, my dear. You really have been sleeping a long time. Rather lazy of you, actually.”
Thick lashes fluttered but her dark brown eyes were cloudy and unfocused.
Taff sighed. Perhaps Uncle Albert was right and he had administered far too much laudanum. The dowager had been lying practically motionless on a rather uncomfortable-looking chaise all day and all night, but it was the least rat-nibbled piece of furniture in the ramshackle cottage. Damnation, he hated being back here. Sure there was a certain kind of poetic justice to have this location as the final reckoning place between the Forsyths and the Bruces, but he hadn’t been prepared for the violent, overwhelming emotion. Or the gut-wrenching memories. Luckily there were men posted in every direction, despite the personal distractions it would be impossible for Westleigh to stage a surprise attack and rescue his mother.
“Has she woken up yet?”
He looked over his shoulder and met Albert Bruce’s narrowed golden gaze.
“She’s starting to now. Although if she hears your gruff voice she will probably change her mind. Is breakfast ready?”
“Never mind breakfast, Taff. It was supposed to be a small dose, just enough to weaken her so she could be brought here without any fuss. Not leave her unconscious for hours!”
“Well, a small dose didn’t work. In fact I have a goose egg on my shin where the damned woman kicked me several times, she might be petite but she’s no shrinking violet. Actually it was bloody hard work removing her from the garden, it was only because I’d been watching for a few days that I knew her staff let her be when she went for walks.”
Albert snorted. “You’re obviously getting soft-bellied in your old age. I bet Nora would have had no trouble whatsoever.”
“Aunt Nora is hardly your average woman.”
“No. Anyone who can follow the drum for years, then birth eight babies is a cut above the rest. Pity none were boys, but you get what you’re given and there is no point complaining.”
“She will be sorry to miss this. Did they get away in the boat all right yesterday? Where will they stay?”
“Yes, it all went very smoothly. One of my cousins up and married a Frenchman, so Nora and the girls will stay with them in Paris for as long as necessary. Besides, if something goes wrong it is better to only have one parent in prison. I’ve been putting money aside for some time now, they will be able to live in relative comfort without me.”
“Don’t say that,” Taff said fiercely. “Nothing is going to go wrong. We’ve worked too long and too bloody hard for this. Now, please bring in the food, I’m starving.”
He smiled when Albert stomped away. It was easy to see where the Bruce girls got their short tempers, how his uncle had been such a successful soldier he’d never know.
A soft moan sounded and his gaze jerked back to the dowager countess.
“So, you’ve finally decided to join us, hmmm, my lady? You’ll probably note you are bound rather tightly, and no, I won’t be untying you. I will however, remove the gag because screaming or shouting would be completely pointless. We are in the middle of nowhere and the only people around are those who really couldn’t care less if you lived or died. Understand?”
She nodded weakly.
“All right then,” he said, removing the rolled up wad of linen from her mouth. She coughed, desperately trying to create some moisture to lubricate her no doubt bone-dry mouth, so he picked up a pitcher of well water and splashed some onto her face.
“Thank you,” she croaked, frantically licking her lips to catch the droplets, until abruptly she leaned over the side of the chaise and retched.
He tsked and poured more water into her mouth. “I must apologize for your current state of health, it wasn’t my intention to make you ill. We’ve now decided that our quarrel is not with you.”
“What do you m…mean?”
“It is my understanding you neither endorsed nor condoned your eldest son’s activities, and in fact tried to stop them.”
The dowager bowed her head, her breath coming in harsh, wheezing pants. “I loved G-Gregory. I will always l-love him, he was my firstborn child. But I think he h-hurt people. And I c-can’t forgive that.”
“He did more than hurt people, Lady Westleigh. He murdered them.”
Her head jerked up, the movement obviously too fast for her unsettled stomach as she groaned and retched a second time. Again, he gave her water. When she’d recovered she blinked owl eyes at him, although her face remained a combination of deathly pale with bright pink blotches. “Murder? No, I…the others…”
Taff laughed, although the sound contained no humor. “Oh yes, the other members of the group are heartless, murdering bastards. Or were, in the case of Major Rochland.”
“Were?”
“He’s dead. An unfortunate run-in with a dagger about a week ago. But do not think for a moment, my dear countess, that your eldest son did not kill and maim as well if not better than the others did.”
“Who? Who did Gregory k-kill?”
“My daughter,” rasped a voice from behind him. “He beat, chased and caused my little girl to fall from the cliff. My sweet Hermia’s last moments were nothing but terror and pain…”
Lady Westleigh’s face went near-translucent, her eyes huge. “Sir Albert? But I thought…I read…she slipped while out walking.”
Uncle Albert shuffled forward, fury and despair twisting his face into gargoyle-ugliness, his eyes glittering with hatred. “Filthy lies to protect the devil! No, my lady. Your bastard son murdered Hermia because she was carrying his child.”
“What? No, it was just a flirtation. Gregory said…”
“Wrong! Taff was there. He saw everything. Hermia did slip on the path when she was running to escape your son, but she got caught on a vine a few feet down. Taff tried to rescue her and managed to get ahold of her wrist to pull her to safety. Except Hallmere stabbed Taff in the hand and shoulder. Stabbed and stabbed until he couldn’t hold on any longer and my little girl and the baby growing inside her fell…”
Albert paused and dashed a hand across swollen, reddened eyes. “…they fell so far, Lady Westleigh. All the way down the cliff face and onto some rocks. My girl was near unrecognizable. So broken.”
“No. No, it can’t be,” whispered the dowager, tears edging down her haggard face.
“That’s exactly how it happened. Then Hallmere stabbed Taff in the chest and he fell too. Show her the scars, Taff. Show the ignorant woman what her devil son did.”
Silently, he removed his jacket and stripped off his linen shirt.
She gasped in horror, tears now gushing from her eyes as she took in the deep, vicious disfigurements which cut and dissected his chest. “Oh God. Oh my God. Oh, Taff,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. And Sir Albert…your Hermia…”
“Not just a precious daughter but a grandchild, Lady Westleigh!” Albert spat. “Your son murdered our grandchild! An innocent babe not even given a chance at life by its own father!”
The dowager cried harder, her whole body shuddering uncontrollably despite her tightly bound hands and feet. “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry. I’m s…so sorry.”
“Hermia was the only woman I ever loved,” said Taff quietly. “Do you see? Do you understand now, why we couldn’t let Hallmere live?”
“You?” she replied, stilling. “It was you at Nexham’s estate?”
“Of course. It took a long time for me to recover sufficiently from my injuries. Years in fact. We planned the entire event meticulously, but because we weren’t mired in evil we decided not to torture Hallmere the way he’d done to Hermia and me that day on the cliff top. One shot to the heart was faster and far kinder than he deserved. Do you understand?”
“I understand Gregory wronged you, terribly. But what about Andrew? My h-husband? Was he an accident? Or…”
“No,” said Albert bluntly. “We couldn’t take the chance he would reach help and save Hallmere. His was an excitable horse, not used to being ridden. Nexham ensured that. Taff loosened the saddle and added some burrs.”
Lady Westleigh turned her face into the chaise, her knees curling up until they nearly touched her stomach. “I see,” she said in a suffocated voice. “So what n…now?”
Taff sat back on his heels and retrieved his clothing. “Now we wait for our very special guests to arrive so the cottage party may truly begin.”
“Who?”
He smiled. “The Earl and Countess of Westleigh.”
~ * ~
On the journey to Westleigh Park, the rocking of the carriage had been soothing. On the return trip it just made her nauseous.
Caroline swallowed hard, breathed deeply through her nose, and flexed her limbs. Despite the absolute luxury of Stephen’s well-sprung carriage, any surface resembled stone after you’d been sitting on it for the best part of twenty hours and her backside was so sore she wanted to curl up in a ball and whimper.
But no sound would escape her mouth. Not when that rotten criminal had Jane, and Stephen was nearly beside himself. As soon as he’d seen that note from Taff, they’d both sprinted back outside. A change of horses, coachman and footman and ten minutes later they were back on the road to London with their grim-faced outriders, who all insisted they were more than capable of managing the return journey. After a brief stop at Forsyth House for new escort, more food and to send a very detailed note to White, they’d immediately set out for Kent. Stephen still hadn’t slept a wink, not even a five minute nap. He merely sat like a statue and stared blankly out the window as the scenery flew by, his face so pale and haunted, so grooved and dark circled, he actually looked like a walking corpse.
Caroline reached down into the new basket of food Mrs. Conroy had prepared and pulled out two slices of freshly baked bread spread with butter. “Something to eat?”
“No, thank you,” he said, not looking at her.
“Go on,” she coaxed. “Just a few bites.”
“I’m not a recalcitrant toddler, Caroline. Neither am I hungry.”
“You need something in your stomach. Please? It won’t do at all if you pass out before we find Jane.”
Eventually he took the bread and ate it, but there was no sign of enjoyment. She might have given him two pieces of leather for all his reaction.
Helplessly she stared at him. What could she say? Were there any words at all that could offer a whit of comfort in a situation like this? “Stephen,” she began. “Listen to—”
“Please don’t. I need to think. There will be death today, I hope to God it will be Taff’s, but there is an equal likelihood it will be mine. If that happens, I just want you to know…”
“What?”
“I’ve amended my will. You won’t ever have to worry about money, my bankers will see to it that you’re provided for, always. If by chance you are with child, a boy would of course inherit everything, a girl an extremely substantial dowry. I know you’d be a wonderful mother, always lovingly caring for our child and remembering me to it…”
Terror gripped her chest so hard she could hardly breathe. “Stop it! Stop that awful talk this instant!”
“This talk is reality,” he said gravely, so gravely she couldn’t bear it. “You have to face it whether you want to or not. I know you will, because you are brave and bold and clever. Too damned clever…”
“Don’t, Stephen,” she mumbled, her voice wobbling dangerously.
But he merely smiled sadly. “I’d wish for a little girl. A miniature of you. Your eyes, because there is no lovelier color than jade. Your smile, so you’ll always know sunshine. Our baby hellion would have you gray haired before you’re thirty, but I know you wouldn’t swap her for the world. Promise me you’d educate her properly, Caro. About everything. Especially the best foot-crushing and china-throwing techniques.”
Caroline burst into tears and threw herself into his lap. “I said stop it! You are not going to d-die because I forbid it. Do you hear me? I absolutely f-forbid it!”
“All it takes is one bullet. You must be prepared for the worst.”
“I must do nothing of the sort! Let me explain actual reality. The only person who’ll go gray haired because of our ch-children’s antics will be you! Forsyth House will be bursting at the seams with rogue m-mathematicians and too-clever hellions and you’ll grumble and curse every time you trip over a corridor b-battlefield or are sweet-talked into dancing lessons or have to replace yet another exploded object. But it won’t stop you reaching for me in the night because maybe just one more b-baby would be the perfect number…”
Stephen’s arms clamped around her like a vice, pulling her so tightly against him she could scarcely tell where she ended and he began.
“I think,” he said unsteadily. “Long after the perfect number was achieved I would still reach for you. I know I haven’t said it. Maybe I haven’t shown it enough or very well either. But I…care for you, Caroline Emily Forsyth. Very much. You are everything a man could hope for in a wife.”
Warmth enveloped her heart, like stretching out in front of a blazing fire. No meaningless flattery, no extravagant poetical platitudes from him. A short, solemnly awkward speech of carefully chosen words, straight from the soul.
Cupping his cheek, she brushed her mouth against his. “I’ve loved you since I was thirteen years old, Stephen Douglas Forsyth,” she whispered against his cheek. “And I will love you forever. No matter what.”
He sucked in a harsh breath and tilted her face so their lips could meet in a hard, brutal kiss. A clinging kiss of desperation and fear and need and joy all at the same time, one which somehow promised the world despite what had happened before and what might happen afterwards. They held each other in silence for the longest time, both unwilling to say anything that might shatter their temporary peace. Until they crossed onto Bruce land and the carriage stopped.
Gently lifting her from his lap and onto the squab beside him, Stephen opened the carriage door and leaned out to speak in low, terse tones with the coachman. As soon as he sat back down they were again speeding forward, the crack of the whip distinct in the crisp mid-morning air.
‘We’re nearly there, aren’t we?” Caroline said hoarsely.
“Yes. Not far ahead is the clearing where Taff performed the great poacher rescue. The cottage is about one more mile northwest from there.”
“Will the carriage drive all the way?”
“No. They’ll find a spot, maybe a half mile to go, and stop there. The footmen and my coachman will stay with the carriage; the outriders will each find themselves a spot around the general area. If they find…unexpected guests…they will take care of them.”
Caroline shivered. “I see. What about us? What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to return to London, sip tea with Louisa and practice your lullaby tunes,” he said shortly, running a hand through his hair. “But since the note insisted you be present, I want you to stay near me at all times. Don’t allow Taff to get between us. Watch his hands, drop to the floor behind a chaise or chair if you need to. But for God’s sake, avoid baiting him. He’s obviously severely unbalanced and out for blood.”
“Weapons?”
“Do you know how to shoot a pistol?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll give you some daggers. If you need to use them, do so. And do so with force. You might not get a second chance, Caroline.”
Her shivering turned to full body shudders. This was becoming all together far too real. “Where should I aim f-for?”
“Soft tissue. Shoulder. Stomach. Thigh. Hard and purposeful, in and out. All right?”
“Y-yes.”
“Now,” he said, reaching down for a cloth-covered bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a stunning array of daggers. Some short with fat blades, some long and slender, but all polished to a shine and each tipped with a tightly woven, three inch cloth sheath. “I think two tucked into your stays, one strapped to your thigh and one bound to your upper arm under that perfectly loose sleeve. We also need a spot they could easily find. They’ll expect you to have at least one sort of weapon, and if they remove that, they might not necessarily look for others.”
“My pelisse has a pocket.”
“Excellent.”
Numbly she let him attach the daggers to her body, winding a length of linen tightly around her upper arm, tucking the weapon in and securing it with two borrowed hair pins. Then he did the same to her thigh. For her stays he slid one short dagger either side, so the hilts rested against the soft skin between the top of her breast and her underarm. They were uncomfortable, cool and sharp, yet she instantly felt safer.
“What about you, Stephen?”
“I’ll take these,” he said, shoving two pistols into the waistband of his trousers, another into his jacket pocket, and daggers into his left sleeve and both boots.
The carriage came to a halt.
Oh God.
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Was this it? Their last time together? “Stephen…”
“Caroline,” he said fiercely. “If everything goes wrong…if I’m injured or killed…promise me you’ll run and not look back until you reach this carriage. They will take you to safety.”
“No! I won’t leave you. Damn it. Don’t ask me to do that!”
“Promise me.”
She breathed deeply, trying to control her panic. “I’ve already forbidden you from dying, so it’s a moot point really.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he leaned forward and brushed the moisture from her face with his thumbs before encircling her chin and lifting it for one final, hard kiss.
“We have to go,” he said gruffly, pushing open the carriage door.
They climbed out, nodded at the grim-faced staff and made their way towards the horribly neglected-looking dwelling in the distance. Even from here she could see shutters hanging drunkenly from their frames and a large sag in the roof thatching. Cold chills danced up and down her spine, especially when the cottage door opened and a familiar red-headed figure limped out. Hatred surged through her body so strong she actually stumbled, but Stephen quickly slipped a hand under her elbow and steadied her.
Mr. Captain Tavistock Martin would pay for what he’d done to her husband.
She would make sure of it.
~ * ~
“Lord and Lady Westleigh. How kind of you to finally join us. The accommodations aren’t quite perhaps what you are used to, but please do come inside.”
Strolling unconcernedly took every bit of Stephen’s willpower and then some. Yet he continued towards the cottage, Caroline on his arm, as though they were walking down one of the lantern-lit walkways at Vauxhall Gardens. There was no way in hell Tavistock Martin would get a reaction out of him. No matter what the bastard did from this moment forward, it would result in nothing but impassiveness. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing his rage. His hatred.
His fear.
All three emotions were so strong it felt like he might explode. Perspiration trickled an itchy streak down the back of his neck, his hands were cold and clammy, and his teeth probably ground down to half their original size, but not by so much of an eyelid flicker would Taff realize the full extent of the leashed danger he faced.
Caroline knew. Just as he knew the combination of terror and fury which caused her to stumble mere minutes ago. It was now a matter of the two of them controlling their emotions and using them at exactly the right time.
“Martin,” he replied evenly. “Where is my mother?”
“The dowager is presently resting on the chaise. Not feeling overly well, I daresay.”
“Oh?” said Caroline. “A summer cold?”
Taff sighed. “No. There was an unfortunate laudanum incident. It really doesn’t agree with her. We were concerned for a while she might not wake up, but she did eventually. Although her mind wandered all over the place and she retched and coughed like a young man after his first May Day.”
“Oh dear,” said Stephen. “How unpleasant.”
“Indeed,” mused Taff, staring at him for a very long moment, his brow furrowed.
No, you bastard. I won’t blink first.
“You said ‘we’, Martin. Who else is attending our little gathering?”
“Come inside and see for yourself, Lord Westleigh. You, too, Lady Westleigh.”
Stephen pushed the door with the toe of his Hessian and it swung open with an abrasive, nerve-grating creak. Ducking under the rather low frame, he stepped inside and pulled Caroline behind him so her back nearly touched the wall. Or at least what was left of the wall.
Jesus. The only fit use for this filthy, single-roomed dwelling was the start of a giant bonfire. Feathers, fur and droppings indicated a resting place for every rodent, bird and small wild animal within a twenty-mile radius. Two of the walls had gaping holes where stone pieces had dislodged and timber beams rotted and fallen away. Tufts of grass were poking up between large cracks in the floor, and the tattered remains of what might have been curtains hung limply from the broken windows. But far worse than this derelict building was the sight of his mother lying on a lumpy, uneven chaise, her hands and feet tied with thin rope. Not to mention Sir Albert Bruce perched next to her holding a pistol.
“Are you going to untie my mother, Sir Albert?” Stephen asked casually.
“Not at this stage, Lord Westleigh. But I must reassure you we have no quarrel with the dowager. She will be freed eventually and permitted to continue on with her life.”
“Unless of course we change our minds,” interjected Taff.
Stephen stared incredulously at the man. “You don’t honestly think you will get away with hurting an earl and two countesses, do you?”
Taff laughed. “We got away with murdering an earl and a viscount, my lord. It’s not especially difficult.”
Shock held him immobile. “Excuse me?”
“They were the poachers, Stephen,” rasped his mother, in a terrible, rusty voice that sounded like chains being dragged through hell. “At Nexham’s estate. They killed your father and Gregory.”
Agony tore through his body. He forced himself to breathe, to remain calm and in control. Just a few more minutes…
“We know what happened, Mr. Martin,” said Caroline softly into the silence. “To you and Hermia. We understand the anger and hatred towards Hallmere. But why did you-”
“My name is Taff. And the previous Lord Westleigh died because he had to. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
“Two for one? I don’t understand,” said Stephen.
“Two for two,” spat Sir Albert. “My daughter was carrying your brother’s child. She’d just informed him when he killed her.”
Oh Christ. Oh hell.
“But…then surely the ledger is now squared?”
“No,” said Taff. “No, no, no. You have bad blood just like your brother and must be stopped. I know you joined the Society, that you went to meetings, and their offices at the docks. And another woman died.”
“Wait!” cried Caroline. “You’ve got it wrong, Taff. Stephen didn’t join them at all. The meeting at the docks opened our eyes, then with the death of poor Clara…we wouldn’t befriend those men if they were the last on earth. They are criminals!”
“Liar! You’re his wedded whore, of course you would defend him. That makes you just as bad. Well, my dear Lady Westleigh, are you prepared to die? Are you?” Taff snarled as he pivoted, cocked his pistol and pointed it straight at Caroline’s head. She swallowed hard then slowly raised trembling hands, palms outward in a show of complete surrender.
A split second later, Stephen pressed the dagger from his sleeve hard against Taff’s neck. “Put your pistol down, Mr. Martin. It will take me less time to sever your spinal cord than for you to pull that trigger.”
A discreet cough sounded and Stephen glanced sideways. Only to see Sir Albert holding a cocked pistol to his mother’s forehead. For a long moment all sets of eyes flicked back and forth. Finally Stephen dropped the knife, trying not to wince as it bounced and clattered on the stone floor.
“What do you want, Taff?”
“I want us all to take a nice stroll outside. Uncle, if you would untie the dowager. Lady Westleigh, I would ask you to remove your pelisse.”
“I’d rather not,” said Caroline. “I’m a trifle chilly at the moment.”
Stephen nearly smiled. Clever wife. “Come on, Taff, if you want to walk, let’s walk.”
“We won’t be walking until the countess removes her pelisse. If I have to ask again, I’ll be removing it from a cooling corpse.”
Her chin lifting, Caroline removed the light garment and threw it onto the floor, the knife hidden in plain sight also clattering as it hit the stone. “There.”
“Excellent. Now we can depart.”
After leaving the cottage they turned right and walked down a rough, graveled path. Sir Albert and his mother in front, Caroline and Taff at the back and him in the middle, both the other men with trained loaded pistols on the women. Soon he could smell the tang of sea air, hear waves beating against uncompromising rock, and his head swam. The cliff top. Taff was taking them to the place where it had started four years ago.
Far too soon, Sir Albert came to a halt. “Here?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes,” replied Taff. “I want the three of you to walk right to the edge. Carefully mind, the gravel is slippery for ladies in heels. But look. Take a long, hard look at the drop. How far down it is to the ocean. How sharp and unforgiving the cliff face, not to mention those rocks below. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no one to save you. How does it feel?”
Stephen fought the urge to react with violence, as the two pistols in his waistband practically gouged holes in the small of his back. But they only had one shot each, and both would have to count. Even though he still had a dagger in each boot, his skill with them was far too erratic to rely on. Really, it was the pistols or nothing. Heart or between the eyes to be sure.
“I’m not…” he began.
“Not in a talkative mood, Westleigh? Perhaps you need a task to occupy yourself. Uncle. The rope?”
Ice slithered down Stephen’s spine as Sir Albert removed two lengths of rope from around his shoulder. What the fuck was this?
“Don’t look like that, Westleigh,” chuckled the baronet. “It’s not a hard task, even for a Londoner. Two lengths of rope, one for each lady. Tie one end around their waist and leave the other end free.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snarled. “No.”
Taff blinked. “If you won’t, we’ll have to put a bullet in both pretty blonde heads right now. But if that’s your decision, it will make this faster. Not nearly as satisfying, but faster. Uncle, on three. One…two…”
“Wait,” Stephen roared, the word torn from somewhere deep in the abyss forming within his stomach. “I’ll do it.”
“Good decision,” said Sir Albert, handing him the rope.
He walked over to his mother.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he breathed, hoping she knew he meant for everything. Their fight, his stupidity, all the days he hadn’t been there for her. Hell, all the occasions he’d screwed up, even the ones he couldn’t remember.
Jane lifted her arms in the air. “Make sure you tie it n-nice and tight, my darling. A decent sailor’s knot if you p-please.”
“For me too,” added Caroline, stalking over to stand next to Jane.
God, but they were incredible, his mother and his wife. Not two peas from the same cursed pod, but the same infinitely blessed one.
Swiftly he tied the rope around each of their waists, tugging on the end to ensure the knot wouldn’t slip loose. Every instinct he had screamed it was important the knot hold under very heavy pressure, although he was careful when attending to Caroline that he didn’t restrict access to any of her hidden knives.
“There,” he said frigidly. “Done.”
“All right,” said Taff, gesturing with his pistol. “Now tie both the ends around that stump there.”
Do not pass out. Do not lose control.
Stephen glanced at his mother and Caroline. They both nodded, so he knelt down and looped the rope twice around the fat, heavily rooted stump before securing it. It would take several close-range cannonballs to dislodge something like that from the ground.
“Anything else?” he said, still endeavoring to keep his voice even.
“Just one more thing,” replied Taff pleasantly, lifting his pistol.
Then he aimed.
And fired.