Alyssa Everett (24 page)

“So you killed him out of greed?”

Frye flushed. “Not greed. I gave him half of every penny your sister paid me, right down to the last farthing. In the end, I had to kill him out of self-preservation.” At my look of confusion, Frye hunched his shoulders. “Lord Cliburne called that day, together with that puffed-up cousin of his, asking questions about Sam and Lady Helen. I told Sam he’d better lie low for a while, and he panicked. He said he’d lose his place if Lord Woodford believed he was dallying with your sister, and probably face arrest, since the blackmail was bound to come out. He was going to go to your father and tell him I was behind it all, and I couldn’t have that, could I?”

“So you killed him.” I shivered. Frye had to be mentally unbalanced, explaining away a brutal murder as if it made all the sense in the world.

“I had to. I’m not a violent man, but it would have meant my place as well, and probably transportation too. I talked him into coming during the dinner service so we could tell your father together when the ladies withdrew, then I shut his mouth for good. You must realize I’d do anything for your sake, my lady.”

“For my sake? I certainly didn’t want Sam Garvey dead, or Mr. Harriman, either. And what about Lord Beningbrough? That shot you fired very nearly killed him too, and now he’s facing the gallows—”

“He’s not facing the gallows,” Frye said with an odd look of satisfaction. “I was sorry to have to kill Mr. Harriman, and even more sorry about Sam, but I’m not sorry about that filthy, high-and-mighty Lord Beningbrough. He deserved what he got. Do you think I didn’t see the way he pawed at you?”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone as dry as cotton. “What do you mean, ‘he deserved what he got’? If you mean shooting him in the garden and sending him to Newgate—”

Frye cut me off with a shake of his head. “The Court of King’s Bench ordered his release not an hour ago. I suspect he was headed here, in fact. But I knew you were better off without him, and that’s why I took care of him.”

I
took care of him
. At least, I thought that was what Frye said. I couldn’t be sure, because for the first and only time in my life, a buzzing sounded in my ears, the room seemed to recede around me, and I sensed I was about to faint.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ben

I struggled to open my eyes. It was a skill I’d mastered early in life, yet for some reason, this time I couldn’t quite manage it.

“Coming around already?” said a voice I didn’t recognize.

I finally succeeded in opening my eyes, only to discover myself flat on my back in bed, in surroundings completely unfamiliar to me. The room had a spare, shabby look, from its worn rush chair and battered washing stand to its threadbare window curtains, and I could hear carriages in the street outside. An older gentleman with an unruly head of white hair was bending over me, smiling agreeably.

“Yes, you’re still with the living,” the man said with a chuckle when my eyes met his. “Don’t try to sit up yet, my boy. You’ve suffered a concussion.”

I had struggled to my elbows, my head pounding, but at the man’s admonition I sank back against the pillow. “Where am I? Who—?”

“You’re in a room above the Angel Inn, and my name is Ryland. I’m a physician.” He gestured to a medical bag resting at his feet. “I was in a hackney just passing St. Giles Church when you fell almost under the horse’s hooves.”

“I fell?”

“You don’t remember?”

I shook my head, and instantly regretted the gesture when an invisible red-hot poker lanced from one temple to the other.

Dr. Ryland frowned at my pained grimace. “I’m not surprised your head hurts. That’s quite a goose egg you’re sporting. It’s a bad neighborhood, though usually the footpads aren’t quite so reckless. They nearly did you in.”

“I don’t even recall being in this part of London.”

“Can you remember your name? Where do you live?”

That much I did know. “Ormesby House. I’m the Marquess of Beningbrough.”

The doctor’s frown grew more pronounced. “Dear me! Your wits are still addled, I’m afraid. There’s a Lord Beningbrough in Newgate right now, the suspect in a celebrated double murder. You must have read his name in the papers.”

“No, I...” Vague impressions of Barbara and a mission to Leonard House tumbled through my head. I couldn’t remember why I’d been heading there or what my hurry had been, but I trusted it would all come back to me soon. I made to rise. “Excuse me, there’s somewhere I have to be.”

Dr. Ryland took me firmly by the shoulders. “Whoa, now, not so fast. You’re in no fit state to do anything but rest until your head clears. Walking out of here now could be dangerous.”

Dangerous? My head throbbing, I allowed Dr. Ryland to push me back down against the pillow. I had a feeling he was right about there being danger, but for the life of me I couldn’t put my finger on the reason why.

Barbara

“My lady!” Frye seized me by the elbow. “Don’t you go swooning on me.”

“I’ve never swooned in my life.” Tugging my arm free of Frye’s grasp, I had the queer sensation I’d lived the experience before. Then I remembered why—I’d spoken the same words to Ben on the night Sam Garvey was killed.

I was afraid to ask the question, but I had to know the answer. “When you said you ‘took care of’ Lord Beningbrough, what did you mean?”

A scowl twisted Frye’s sallow face. “There were carriages about, so I couldn’t do the job properly. But I sent him a message, so to speak, and if he’s smart, he’ll keep his distance.”

Thank God, Ben was still alive. My knees went weak with relief. I hoped for his sake he
would
keep his distance.

I massaged my arm where Frye’s fingers had dug into the flesh. “What are you planning to do with me?”

He looked away, his lips thinning to a grim line.

His silence was all the answer I needed, and it brought the metallic taste of fear to my mouth. “You don’t have to kill me. Just leave me and my family alone and I’ll give you as much time as you need to escape.”

“Escape?” Frye’s hazel eyes narrowed. “But I did all this for you.”

Despite everything—despite the terror I felt and the conviction that Frye had to be more than half mad—I was frantic to save myself. “Then it makes no sense to kill me, does it? If you still want me, it’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could elope together,” I improvised desperately. “I’m over twenty-one, and I have more than enough money for both of us to live on. If I were your wife, no one could force me to testify against you.”

A gleam lit Frye’s eyes. “You’d really run away with me?”

“We’ve always understood each other, and I’d be a fool to choose the alternative, wouldn’t I?” If I could only stall him long enough, I could find an opportunity to break free, or perhaps some way to summon help. My father would be out at this time of day, but Lewis and Stroud were below stairs, and perhaps I could alert my mother...

Frye took a step closer. “Right now, today?”

“It would have to be today, wouldn’t it?” I answered with deceptive lightness. “We wouldn’t want my family to suspect anything before we’re safely away. We can head for Gretna Green and marry over the anvil. Of course, I’ll have to change out of these damp clothes first, and pack a few things. I’m sure we can trust Sills. Just let me ring for—”

“No. No one else.”

If I were a man, I would have sworn with frustration. Instead I argued as calmly as I could, “But I need her help to change.”

“I’ll help you.” At my shocked expression, Frye darted a meaningful glance at the peephole. “It won’t be the first time I’ve watched you undress.”

I swallowed down the outrage that rose like bile in my throat. I felt violated, and in more ways than one. I had trusted him,
liked
him, and he was guilty of all the ugly, cowardly acts I’d blamed on John Mainsforth. “On second thought, I can probably manage by myself.”

Frye took a step toward me, so that I instinctively drew back. But instead of seizing hold of me, he opened the dresser drawer with one hand. His eyes fixed watchfully on me all the while, he groped inside, pulling out the bag of coins and pocketing it. Then he reached farther back beneath the folded linens, searching in the drawer until he’d retrieved a heavy horse pistol.

He showed me the weapon. “I’ll be right behind you with this. Lead the way to your room, but no sudden moves.”

If only I’d known the pistol was in the drawer! Instead, I’d been weighing my chances for escape—should I race for the stairs, gambling that even if I stumbled and fell, a broken neck would be preferable to my fate with Frye? Should I throw myself, screaming, on the nearest door, trusting that help was close enough to reach me before Frye could do his worst? Now that he’d armed himself, I didn’t dare risk either option.

Careful not to let on how frightened I was, I made my way out of the vacant bedchamber and into my own with my head high. Frye followed on silent feet. He pulled my door closed behind us with an air of suppressed excitement, as I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

Frye made an impatient gesture with the pistol. “Go ahead, get out of those wet things.”

“You might at least turn your back.”

“What difference does it make, if we’re to be married soon?”

Ready to weep with frustration, I reached around me, struggling to undo my buttons.

Frye opened my wardrobe door and pulled out a gown. “You can wear this.” He draped a pale blue muslin over the foot of my bed.

Humiliated, I managed to tug my damp gown and petticoat off over my head. My stays and chemise were wet too, but I had no intention of taking them off for Frye. I plucked the blue muslin from the bed and pulled it on.

Frye came around behind me and fastened the tapes of my gown, the pistol still in one hand. When he’d finished, he stroked the barrel slowly down my neck. “I’ve always liked you in this dress.”

I shivered, but not from the chill of my wet underthings. “I’ll need to pack.”

“Just be quick about it.”

I kept a valise at the bottom of my wardrobe. I drew it out and set it on my bed. I tried to move as slowly as possible, but Frye was in no mood to wait. He began stuffing clothes into the bag, reaching around me, moving hurriedly from the wardrobe to the dresser and back.

I would have dragged the business out for hours if I could have, but Frye soon snapped the valise shut. “That should be enough to see us on our way. If you need anything more, we’ll buy it on the road.”

How else to put off our departure? If I left the house with him, I’d be even more at his mercy. Even if I should somehow manage to break free, by then I might be well and truly compromised. Society didn’t look kindly on girls who ran off with servants, no matter how compelling their explanations. “I’ll need to leave my family a note. I was about to have a bath. They’ll wonder why I didn’t after putting Stroud to all the trouble of carrying it up, and why I never even rang for Sills. My father will come after us if he imagines I’ve gone unwillingly. And...and I should write Lord Beningbrough too.”

Frye’s reddish-blond brows came together in a frown. “Why Lord Beningbrough?”

I felt a desperate need to reach out to Ben, a need that transcended even the urgency of stalling for time. It might be the last chance I’d ever have to tell him how I felt. “We quarreled this morning when I saw him in Newgate. Despite your...your warning, he may try to see me, hoping to patch things up. I’ll send him a note to make the break final.”

Though Frye had bristled when I mentioned Ben, he nodded at my explanation, the angry color fading from his cheeks. “I’d deliver that note myself, if I didn’t think it would be wiser for us to cover as many miles today as possible. We’ll send a messenger boy.” He gestured with a tilt of his head toward my bedside table. “Go on, but be quick about it.”

Already, Frye had dropped the honorific when speaking to me. He seemed to gain more confidence with each passing minute. I went to my table and took out the writing paper I kept there.

“I’m going to read every word,” Frye cautioned, “so don’t try anything clever.”

I nodded, though inside I felt as if I were already half dead. What point was there in writing Ben if I couldn’t say what I really felt?

Frye nudged the inkwell closer with his pistol. “What are you waiting for?”

Dipping my pen, I first scratched out a quick message to my family.

Dear Mama, Papa, and Helen,

After all the gossip swirling about our family since Sam Garvey’s murder, I think it would be more prudent to stay with Aunt Archer until talk has died down. I knew if I asked Papa he would try to stop me, or perhaps make me take Helen along, so I have made up my mind to travel by public conveyance. Please do not worry. I will take a servant with me for protection and write you as soon as I am settled.

Your loving daughter and sister,

Barbara

It was hard to keep my hand from shaking as I penned the lines. I lingered over the word
loving
, wishing I could underline it. At last I managed to finish, and I passed the note to Frye.

He read it and looked up. “Your aunt Archer?”

“I didn’t actually lie,” I pointed out. “I told them I thought it would be more prudent to stay with my aunt, not that I was actually going to visit her. My parents may question the wisdom of my traveling with you instead of with Sills, but it should be several days before they realize we’ve actually gone to Gretna.”

Frye nodded his approval. “Good. Now for Lord Beningbrough. Only this time, I’ll tell you what to write.”

I closed my eyes briefly against a wave of despair. “Fine. But it needs to sound as if it came from me. You tell me the sense of what you want it to say, and I’ll write it in my own words.”

“But no tricks. Remember, I’m going to read every line.” Pistol in hand, Frye sat down on my bed, considering. “First, tell him you don’t love him.”

“He already knows—”

“Just do as I say. Now.”

At the unaccustomed steel in Frye’s voice, I bent over the page and scribbled the lines. It was the only way to save my life. Besides, it wasn’t a real betrayal. Ben had made it clear he didn’t want me.

“Write him that you’ve told your family you’re going to Brighton, but you’re really going away with the man you love.” Frye smiled at the thought. “I’d like to see his face when he reads that.”

I reflected a moment then wrote out my version of Frye’s meaning.

“Finish by saying you never want to see him again,” Frye instructed, “and sign it with just your name.”

Heavy-hearted, I complied, then handed him the result.

Frye read the letter through, smiling more broadly with each line. “Yes, that’s very good. I like the part about his father’s reputation. That was a nice touch.”

“Thank you,” I answered in a whisper. Frye had clearly meant the remark as a compliment, but I almost wished he’d shot me instead.

Ben

I sat up higher against the pillows, though the sudden change in posture made my head spin. “I tell you, I
am
the Marquess of Beningbrough.”

I was chafing to be on my way, but Dr. Ryland refused to let me go until I could prove I’d regained my memory. I took this to mean that if I tried to leave before establishing my identity to his satisfaction, he would have me strapped into a strait-waistcoat and carted off to Bedlam. Unfortunately, my head ached abominably, and I still couldn’t remember how I’d got out of prison or why I’d been on my way to Leonard House. I was having even less success convincing the doctor I was really who I said I was.

Now he wore a pitying expression. “I’ve already told you, my boy, Lord Beningbrough is behind bars. Perhaps you’re a servant of some sort? With your looks, you’d make a fine footman. You might even belong to the Duke of Ormesby’s household.”

“I do belong to the Duke of Ormesby’s household, but not because I’m in service.”

The doctor sighed. “You are rather well-spoken for a footman,” he acknowledged in a grudging tone. “But you don’t look at all like a duke’s son. No offense, but those clothes you’re wearing are hardly in the first stare of fashion.”

“I always dress this way.” Ruefully I wondered if it might be time I gave up the habit of rigging myself out like a yeoman farmer. I held up my left hand. “What about this ring?”