Chapter 34
This wasn’t the first time Blackthorn had had a pistol directed right at him. The moon was bright above him, giving Kendall a clear view.
“Step away,” Kendall said. He slowly positioned himself so that the open field was at his back. One, two, three. He stepped backward, not taking the pistol off Blackthorn.
“There’s nowhere to go,” Blackthorn said.
“Do not attempt to follow me. I would hate for something to happen to your mother.”
Blackthorn stopped in his tracks, hands in the air. While he may have his disagreements with his mother, he didn’t want to see her hurt.
“Do you really think I would be that mindless as to let you direct me any way you please?” Kendall said. “If harm comes to me, young man, I have arranged to have your family shame on the front page of The London Times. . . the whores—he had a taste for them, a little more than what was good for him, if you know what I mean.”
French pox. That explained the erratic behavior Blackthorn had witnessed before his father passed. Still, he was not going to bite. “It’s over. Drop the pistol before someone gets hurt.”
“As you command, my lord,” he jested with a grimace. “Who do you think you are speaking to?”
Kendall backed away slowly. Blackthorn didn’t. If Kendall ran into the woods, finding him was going to be difficult.
“Put the pistol down—”
Kendall aimed and pulled the trigger. A loud bang followed. Richard felt the wind from the bullet passing his head. Bloody hell.
By the time he regained his focus, Kendall was already diving into the woods. Blackthorn followed, and before he had the chance the shield himself in the thick of the trees, Kendall shot at him again. This time, the bullet grazed Blackthorn’s upper arm with a sharp, cutting pain.
“Give up, young man,” Kendall shouted as Blackthorn kept his pace steady.
Once he was in the thick of the woods, everything stilled. He stopped. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, the light of the moon giving him some visibility.
Then footfalls.
Crunch. Snap.
He followed the subtle sound, listening. Right. No, left. He heard the snap of a twig to his right again, so he quickly followed, picking up his pace. Then, from the periphery, he saw a figure running a few yards from him.
Blackthorn took off in a sprint, then lunged at Kendall and both men fell to the leafy ground with a thump. Kendall screamed in agony. Blackthorn wrestled the pistol out of his hand and threw it.
“You’re going to live a long, miserable life in prison, I will make sure of that.”
Kendall spit in his face. “Not if I have anything to do about—”
Bam.
Crack. Thump.
With Blackthorn’s punch, Kendall was knocked out. Blackthorn lowered himself and looked at Kendall. “You are going to pay, I will make certain of that, old man.”
Blackthorn grabbed Kendall by the collar, dragged him out of the woods, and dropped him near the cottage like a bag of rubbish.
The Bow Street Runner, Kane Roberts, approached. “I got your note and arrived as fast as I could.”
“Good, I was worried you didn’t get my note in time.”
“I’ll escort him to Bow Street,” Roberts said. “I’ve already informed the Magistrate regarding this matter.”
“Thank you,” Blackthorn said.
The sound of a carriage alerted them. “Are you expecting anyone?”
The runner shook his head. “This should be interesting.”
The carriage came to a full halt, and the door opened. Amelia and Kate stepped out of the carriage. What the bloody hell were they doing here? From the expression on the runner’s face, clearly he didn’t have a clue either.
“What are you two doing here?” Blackthorn asked.
Amelia approached him. “We found this in the foyer of my London house.” She handed him the crumpled note with the address. “What is this place?”
A baby wailed in the waiting carriage, and their heads turned toward the sound. Amelia ran to the carriage and inside she saw a baby. Picking up the infant, she faced the others. “What is going on here?”
Just then, Mrs. Pots opened the cottage door. “What are you doing with that baby?” she said, running to her. “He is my baby.”
My God, the woman was mad. And why was Mrs. Pots here? Kate quickly stopped Mrs. Pots from reaching for the baby. “What are you doing here? And where is the baby’s mother?”
Mrs. Pots looked toward the house, but she seemed afraid to speak.
“Is the mother of this baby inside?”
When the baby wailed, Mrs. Pots looked at him. “He needs me.”
“He needs his mother,” Amelia said, her voice softening. As much as she hated the woman, Mrs. Pots had suffered too under the scrutiny of Amelia’s grandmother.
“Because of you, my daughter lost everything,” Mrs. Pots said spitefully.
Lost everything? Amelia was confused. “What does she have to do with this? Your daughter is happily married.”
“To a farmer,” Mrs. Pots snapped. “A poor man with nothing to show for it. My daughter was promised a part of the inheritance until you showed up and the old woman changed her will.”
Amelia had met Mrs. Pots’ daughter a few times, but she had not been aware of this promise.
Mrs. Pots added, “I was the only loyal friend and companion she had and my daughter worshiped her.”
“It was not my doing. I had no wish to take your daughter’s place, and I certainly didn’t want to stay with my grandmother, you know this,” Amelia said patiently. She understood Mrs. Pots’ suffering now, why she’d hated Amelia all these years. But that didn’t mean she could treat everyone here the way she pleased.
Mrs. Pots’ tears dripped down slowly. “I sacrificed everything for that woman.”
“I know,” Amelia said. “We all have.”
The woman looked at the baby again. “I had nothing to do with the fire. You have to believe me,” she said desperately. “I told him not to do it. I told him it was a bad idea. He didn’t want to listen to me.”
Amelia patiently nodded. The baby started to wail louder. “I know,” she said softly. “The baby needs her mother . . . he needs to feed. I am going to take the baby inside now.”
“Go,” Blackthorn said. “Millie should be inside.”