Before The Scandal (28 page)

“I did a quick check,” Bram said, coughing, his usual lazy drawl missing. “Didn’t see anyone else.”

Sullivan was helping the servants through the door, ordering them to get buckets and join the growing line of people dumping water through the windows. “I got the kitchen staff,” he choked, “when I checked the back door. They nailed it closed, as well.”

William, with Andrews as always standing behind him, sat a few feet behind them in the foyer. “You’re next,” Phineas said.

“My people first.”

“No.” Leaning down, Phineas pulled his brother into his arms and lifted him out of the chair. “Bring it,” he instructed Andrews, and made his way through the milling servants to the door. He stepped through the mess and down the front steps.

A few feet away Alyse stood holding a full bucket of water. “Don’t throw it at the wall!” she yelled, “get the water into the rooms!”

“Here, sir.” Andrews set the chair down, and Phineas lowered William into it.

“Are you unhurt?” he panted, grasping his brother’s shoulder.

“Just get everyone out.”

“I will.”

He charged back into the house, ripping the curtains off the foyer window and ducking into the morning room. With the lowering smoke he could barely see, but he managed to smother the fire out of the floorboards in one corner. Then he went to work throwing burning pieces of furniture through the shattered windows, pulling down flaming curtains, grabbing up buckets, and throwing water onto the pieces he couldn’t move. Peripherally he noted that Bram was in there with him, as well, while through the foyer in the sitting room he could hear Sullivan and Gordon yelling.

Finally Bram grabbed his arm. “I think we’ve got it,” he rasped, his face covered in soot, in places nearly as black as his hair. He bent over, coughing.

“Stay here and keep an eye out,” Phineas instructed, his own voice hoarse from the thick smoke. He made his way through the smoking, soggy clutter to the room on the far side of the foyer. Sergeant Gordon lay on the floor, coughing, while Sullivan leaned out one of the windows. They’d gotten the fire out there, as well. “Anyone hurt?” he asked thickly.

“A few small burns,” Sullivan said, wiping the back of his arm across his face. “And I think Gordon has a singed brow.”

Phineas sagged against the doorframe and shut his eyes for a long moment. “Thank God you were here.”

“First time I’ve ever heard anyone thanking God for me,” Bram said from the doorway behind him.

“Phin? Phin?” Alyse stumbled through the wreckage at the front door and then flung herself against him.

His heart clenched and released again as he swept his arms around her, holding her close. “You were magnificent out there,” he murmured into her hair.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave the house,” she returned, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to burn. I love you.”

He just wanted to hold on to her, let everything else slip away. She loved him. And at that moment, he felt as though he could accomplish anything.

“Is there something you haven’t told us, Phin?” Bram asked, his sardonic drawl reappearing.

Taking a breath, Phineas looked from one friend to the other. “What, exactly, happened?”

“Two of them shoved into the breakfast room,” Sullivan said, scowling. “We should have expected something, but—”

“
I
should have expected something,” Phineas interrupted.

“Donnelly and Smythe,” Bram contributed, wiping soot from his jacket sleeve. “They held pistols on us, probably while someone else nailed the doors shut, then locked us in. Less than a minute after that we smelled smoke. We were trying to decide how to get William out through the window when you arrived.”

Phineas swore softly. “I expected their next move might be more direct,” he grated, “but I thought it would be against me. They knew I would be out of the house, though.” He looked at his friends, horror pulling at him. “They didn’t expect you. And if you hadn’t been here, I—”

“The question is,” Bram interrupted, “how do you intend to respond to this little gesture?”

He knew how he
wanted
to respond. As he looked around the wreckage of the front room and at Alyse holding his hand, he knew how he
meant
to respond. “I’m finished with sneaking about and wearing disguises,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “Gordon, I have an errand I need you to see to.”

“Aye, Colonel.”

“Sullivan, Bram, we’re making a visit to Donnelly House.”

Alyse kept hold of his arm. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m ending this.”

She looked down for a moment. “I don’t want him dead,” she returned. “Mostly I just never want to have to see him or Aunt Ernesta ever again.”

He nodded. “Done.”

“Phin,” William said in a more even voice, “don’t feel that you have to sacrifice yourself to make things right. You don’t owe us anything.”

“Yes, I do.”

Bram saluted the gathered onlookers. “Have luncheon waiting for us. I anticipate being famished.”

The three friends set off for Donnelly House at a canter. William had hit on it, Phineas supposed. He did owe his brother and sister a good deed. He’d run out on them ten years ago, not because William couldn’t stand to look at him, but because he couldn’t stand to look at himself. It had been cowardly. For the past ten years he’d faced down armies, killed men, been shot at, and all through that time the most terrifying thing had been the idea of returning to Quence Park.

But then he had returned, and gradually both he and his siblings had begun to realize that he wasn’t the same self-hating fool that he’d been at age seventeen. And Alyse—back then she’d been a fearless companion. Now she was a great deal more than that. He’d made her some promises, and he meant to find a way to keep them.

At the moment he had an advantage of sorts. If he’d gotten home a few minutes later, if Sully and Bram hadn’t been there, his siblings would be dead. The thought brought the black anger coursing back up through him again, and this time he allowed it to flow into his fingers, through his veins, and into his muscles. Donnelly had meant to commit murder.

As far as the viscount knew, he
had
killed William and Beth—and everyone else in the manor. All Donnelly would need to do then to secure himself a damned good opportunity to take over Quence would be the death of the one remaining brother. They would be waiting for him, expecting him to be blind with grief and thinking of nothing but revenge. And they would expect him to be alone.

However badly he wanted to charge the house, pistols blazing, logic would serve him better. Donnelly had known that he wouldn’t be at Quence when they set the fire and bolted the doors. Which meant they wanted to deal with him more directly. They wanted to kill him up close.

And that, he could use. Just before the straight drive up to the house the road curved inside a picturesque stand of ancient oak and elm trees. He pulled Ajax to a halt and dismounted. “Any preferences?” he asked, as he freed the coil of rope he’d tied to the saddle and slung it over his shoulder. “Other than Donnelly. He’s mine.”

Bram checked his pistol before he replaced it in his greatcoat pocket. “I’ve always found Lord Charles Smythe’s cologne annoying.”

“Which leaves me with Ellerby,” Sullivan murmured with a grim smile.

“Try to keep them alive, if possible,” Phineas said, jamming a pair of pistols into his waistband. “I’d prefer that they confess.”

“Just once,” Bramwell commented, as they moved through the trees toward the cover of the formal garden, “it would be nice for the three of us to sit down with a bottle, and no one shooting at us or trying to burn us to cinders.”

Sullivan chuckled. “Something to look forward to, then.”

They separated in the garden. Phin carried a second brace of pistols in his greatcoat pockets, and whatever he might have planned, he was perfectly willing to use them. That gave him another advantage of sorts; whereas Donnelly and his cronies had murdered their share of pheasants and aimed a few shots at him in the dark, for the past ten years he’d made killing his profession. And he was very good at it.

Keeping low, he left the trees and, using the shelter of the low garden wall, made his way closer to the back of the house. He knew Donnelly House well, and had sketched it out in as much detail as he could for his friends. At the same time, he could only guess at how many weapons and how many eyes would be watching for him. The ones who concerned him were Ellerby, Smythe, and Donnelly.

From a defensive perspective, he would place two of them on the top floor, probably at opposite ends of the house. Bram and Sullivan must have been thinking the same thing, as Levonzy’s son headed for the east wing, and Lord Dunston’s son for the west. Unless he’d assessed Donnelly’s character incorrectly, he would assume that the viscount would be on the ground floor, hoping for a finishing shot after one of the other two brought him down.

Using a tangle of vines for cover, he surveyed the windows that faced him. If they were counting on his fury, they might very well be concentrating on the front of the house. He supposed if they
had
managed to kill his family, he would have galloped straight up the drive.

He jumped the low fence, scrambling forward until he found more cover behind a marble statue of Aphrodite. A grim smile curved his mouth—the only thing he’d ever found that made him feel more alive than a good fight was Alyse. He could give up the fighting, but not her. It was as though he’d made the decision before he’d ever consciously asked himself the question.

Phineas moved forward again, angling his path toward the windowless kitchen. Once he reached the base of the house, he crept beneath windows until he spied one standing open an inch or so.

Moving swiftly, he glanced inside and ducked down again. It looked to be one of the spare sitting rooms, and it was empty. He opened the window wider, slid over the sill, and made his way silently to the open door. As he moved, he pulled a pistol from his pocket, then stopped just short of the doorway. For a long moment he listened, pushing back his impatience. In this instance, time was his ally, and he would use it.

Silence. In a large, occupied house, the lack of sound and movement in the middle of the morning was rather disconcerting, but those he and his companions were hunting would have the same sensation. Slowly, placing his feet as carefully as he had the night he’d snuck in with a rifle ball in his shoulder, he made his way along the hallway, making certain no one was inside the small rooms on either side.

The house in between the corners of the west and east wings seemed to be utterly deserted. Donnelly had a definite mistrustful nature; it was entirely possible that he’d gathered his staff together in the cellar or the ballroom and locked them in. As for his mother Ernesta, given her past behavior she was probably in her bedchamber cowering inside her wardrobe. Unless she interfered, Phin would let her be.

He was halfway down the front hallway leading to the foyer and front rooms when he heard the viscount. “Any sign of the bastard yet?” Donnelly yelled from somewhere to the left of the main stairway.

Idiot.
And considering that no one answered him, Phin had the signal he’d waited for. Time to move. He lifted a large glass paperweight off the hall table. Hefting it in his hand, he hurled it through the window of the room to the right of the foyer. Then he sank back into the shadow of the stairs as the crash of broken glass rang through the house.

“He’s here!” Donnelly shrieked, and came running out of the morning room. “Get down here!”

Phineas aimed and fired his pistol. The viscount yelped as his own weapon went flying out of his hand and skidded against the front door.

“That’s more like it,” Phineas said, setting the spent pistol aside and stepping out of the shadows.

“Smythe!” the viscount screamed. “Anthony!”

“Apologies,” Phineas returned, walking forward. “I’m afraid it’s just you and me.”

“You murderer!”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Me? And what precisely have you been up to this morning?”

“Nothing! You’re the madman who’s broken into my home and shot at me.”

“I’m going to give you a chance,” Phineas returned, shrugging out of his heavy greatcoat. “You can attempt to best me face-to-face. No sneaking about, no hurting innocent people to feed your own greed. Just you and me.”

“What, so you can beat me to death?”

Phineas grinned darkly. “That is the idea.”

“Never.” Donnelly backed toward the front door. “I will have you arrested for breaking into my home and threatening me. You will go to prison, and I will be left with Quence Park.”

“I don’t think William would like that very much.”

“W…William?”

Phin nodded. “He’s recently become less fond of you. And I don’t think he’ll want you pursuing Beth any longer, either.” He circled, cutting the viscount off from the door. “Did I forget to mention that you didn’t manage to burn them to death, after all?”

“I…I have no idea what you’re talking about. Clearly you’ve gone mad.”

A high-pitched whistle sounded from beyond the garden wall. “You seem to have another guest, Donnelly,” Phineas commented, unlocking and pulling open the front door. He whistled back.

“Leave, Bromley. I won’t tell you again.”

“I truly wish you would attempt to force me,” he returned with a sigh. Fury still pulled at him. For the moment, though, he would let it pass. There were other things of more importance.

Sergeant Gordon walked up the front steps. “Everythin’ well, Colonel?” he asked, sending Donnelly a suspicious look as he entered the house.

“That depends on whether your errand was successful.”

“Oh, aye, it was.” He leaned back out the front door. “This way, sir. If ye please.”

Phineas took a moment to glance away from Donnelly as Gordon’s errand entered the room. “Mr. Pepper,” he said, offering his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“Your man here didn’t leave me much choice,” the solicitor returned, hefting the satchel in his other hand. “I was advising a client when he burst into my office and dragged me out. When I shared the ride to Uckfield with you, I didn’t anticipate being kidnapped.”

“I hope you’ll find that the cause is worth the interruption. Let’s adjourn to the breakfast room, shall we?” Phineas suggested, gesturing.

“I am not going anywhere,” Donnelly snapped, his face red. “You will leave my ho—”

“I heard you before. Lord Donnelly, this is Mr. Malcolm Pepper. Mr. Pepper is a solicitor in Uckfield. Mr. Pepper, Lord Donnelly.”

“Ah, hello,” Pepper said, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

When Donnelly continued to stand his ground, Phineas strode up to him, grabbed him by the lapel, and shoved him in the direction of the breakfast room. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” he said. “I gave you a chance to meet me face-to-face, and you declined. You, therefore, have lost. These are the consequences.”

Once they reached the breakfast room, Phin pulled one of the pistols from his waistband and tossed it to Gordon. “Keep him here a moment. And Mr. Pepper, please begin drafting a confession. Sergeant Gordon here will help you with the wording.”

He whistled up the staircase. Ellerby stumbled into view, Sullivan behind him. A moment later Bram appeared as well, dragging Smythe by the heels. “What?” the duke’s son demanded. “He ran headfirst into the floor.”

“Mm-hm. Bring them down here.”

By the time they’d dragged Smythe and Ellerby downstairs and tied them to chairs in the breakfast room, Mr. Pepper had a fair quantity of the story down on the page. “I mentioned the ruins’n the dogs’n the flood, and, o’ course, the fire,” Gordon said.

“Don’t forget the overturned carriage and the poisoned horses. I’m sure our Lord Donnelly had a hand in both,” Phineas commented.

“Is all of this true?” Mr. Pepper asked, his expression going less uncertain and more grim by the moment.

“Those are only the incidents of which I’m aware,” Phin answered. “I’m certain there are more, but these will suffice.”

“You can’t prove any of this.”

Phineas ignored the protest. Once it was all was written out to his satisfaction, he set Mr. Pepper to work on a second document. “This one should be simple,” he said. “Please write as follows: ‘I, Richard, Lord Donnelly, do hereby agree to grant the amount of ten thousand pounds to my cousin, Miss Alyse Donnelly, the amount to be paid in full within forty-eight hours of this signing and to be used at her discretion.’ We’ll also need a copy of that one, for his lordship.”

“I won’t sign it. I won’t sign anything.”

“You will sign both of them, or I will kill you.” Phineas leaned one haunch on the table. “I will tell you this. I will hand your confession, sealed, over to William. He will do nothing with it, on the condition that you leave Donnelly House and never return. Settle at Halfens or anywhere else you choose. If one more incident of ill luck befalls Quence Park or any member of my family, your confession will find its way to the chief magistrate of London.”

Bram was nodding. “Tell him the other bit,” he urged, rocking back on his heels.

“Oh, yes. Thank you, Lord Bramwell. Quence Park will be renovating the old Roman baths on our property. We’ve determined that they might prove popular for the gentry traveling between London and Brighton.”

“I will not sign that ridiculous confession. You have no proof, or you would have gone to—”

Phineas pulled the second pistol from his belt and shot Donnelly in the leg. The viscount shrieked, and Mr. Pepper dove under the table. None of his own companions so much as blinked. “Did I mention that you courting my sister under false pretenses doesn’t make me very happy?” he murmured. “Mr. Pepper, please show Lord Donnelly where to sign his confession. And then Lord Anthony and Lord Charles will witness it.”