Pistols at Dawn (10 page)

Dull and flat.
An apt description of her present prospects.

She let out a harried sigh as her gaze returning to the ledgers. At least she was useful, she scolded to herself, trying to fill the strange, echoing hollowness in her heart with a flurry of reason. A figure rendered in ink was far more preferable than a figure molded of flesh—no matter how attractive that flesh was. Numbers represented a certain immutable order. Their value was a constant, unaffected by mood or desire. Solid and predictable, they could be counted on to tally up as they should at the end of the day.

And they most certainly didn't knock one's sense all akilter with a sensual smile.

Again her eyes strayed, this time to the crumpled paper between the cat's paws. Just like the plaguey columns crossed out in black, her feelings were refusing to add up as they should this morning. It made no sense that—

Eliza's odd musings were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "I promised to leave a bottle of my willowbark spirits at the village blacksmith for Mr. Grimsley. Do you wish for me to drop off Mr. Horely's ledger?" asked Meredith. "I shall be passing by his shop."

"No, no." Eliza scrambled to her feet, grateful for an excuse to silence the disquieting ringing in her head. "I could use a bit of fresh air. I'll come with you." She tucked the book of accounts under her arm and went to fetch her bonnet.

As she passed by Meredith, she couldn't help but note that the troubled look of the previous evening still lingered in her sister's eyes, underscored by smudges dark as coal. All thought of her own troubles faded in the face of such obvious distress.

"Oh, Merry," she said, touching her arm. "Have the nightmares returned? Perhaps Buzzing Bess will have something you might take to lessen—"

"No, it's not that," replied Meredith quickly. "I-I am more concerned with Mary than myself. Do you think we might her pay a visit?"

Eliza shook her head. "While she will no doubt welcome your sympathy at some later date, right now I think she and her family would prefer to get through the horror with a modicum of privacy."

Her sister's lower lip quivered just a bit. "I suppose you are right." She made to turn away but Eliza's hand held firm.

"Is that all that is bothering you?"

"I—I am trying to think if there is aught else we need to pick up for Mama. We are running low on clover honey and must not forget to stop by Bess's cottage for another jar. A generous dollop added to hot tea seems the most effective means of easing the cough."

Eliza decided there was little point in challenging the halting explanation, but concern was still etched on her features as she followed her sister from the room. It took only a short while to make a quick survey of the pantry and take their leave from the elderly housekeeper, promising to return by teatime.

After a short discussion concerning certain potions and poultices that had yet to be tried for their mother, their conversation seemed to trail off as if by mutual consent. By the time they reached the shortcut skirting a thick copse of trees, the only sounds were the soft scuffling of their steps and the plaintive hoot of an owl from deep within the shadows of the ancient oaks.

Still in a pensive mood from her own mental ramblings, Eliza didn't mind the long lapses of silence. At the moment, however, it was her sister's strange behavior concerning one of the gentlemen from London that occupied her thoughts, rather than her own odd reaction.

How was it that a sensible girl like Merry appeared so reluctant to acknowledge what terrible danger still lurked before her very nose? It was not as if she needed further proof of what such a villain was capable of, and yet she seemed stubbornly set on trusting intuition over incontrovertible evidence. Why, the man had confessed to the crime! How much more proof was necessary to convince her sister that the Black Cat's nephew was not a purring tabby?

A leopard was more apt description, she decided, all gnashing fangs and tearing claws. Such an animal simply did not change his spots, however soft and cuddly he may appear when not on the prowl.

Eliza thinned her lips to a wry grimace. She was becoming rather proficient at dispensing well-used aphorisms. Perhaps it would be wise to remember her own supposedly sage advice.

A last little sigh signaled her decision to broach the subject with Meredith, no matter that it promised to be a difficult one. But before she could speak, a sharp bark sounded from among the bushes.

"Why, Ajax!" exclaimed Meredith as a hound bounded up to her side and began nosing in some impatience at her hand. "I shall be glad to give you a proper greeting, sweeting, if you will stand still for just a moment."

Eliza gave a grudging smile as she watched the animal dance around in a tight circle, then jump up and drag his paws down the front of Meredith's skirts. "The two of you appear to be good friends."

Without looking up, Meredith sought to catch hold of its ruff. "He belongs to Mr. Harkness." The words came out softly enough but there was an undertone of defiance to them that drew another harried sigh from Eliza.

"Oh, Merry, do you really think it wise—" Her words suddenly caught in her throat as she stared more closely at the streak on her sister's gown. Mixed in with the bits of leaves and mud was a swath of rusty red.

"Dear God."

Meredith's eyes flew down to her waist. In some disbelief, she brushed her fingers slowly across the stain and exhaled sharply as they came away covered in blood.

Ajax whined and began to tug at her shawl.

"Show me," whispered Meredith.

The hound made a sound more howl than bark, then broke away and raced into the tangle of brush. Meredith and Eliza were right on its tail, clawing their way through the brambles and vines. They stumbled onto a faint path that led on toward what seemed to be a small clearing among the gnarled trunks. Through the flickering light, Eliza thought she could make out the silhouettes of curling fiddlehead ferns, along with some darker, dimmer shape on the ground behind them.

Ajax gave another agitated bark, causing their steps to accelerate in tandem.

She wasn't sure whether it was Meredith or herself who screamed first.

Chapter 7

The shape was that of a man. A badly beaten man from the look of the goodly amount of blood soaking the disheveled curls and ripped coat. Half hidden by the undergrowth, he lay face down, one arm twisted under his chest. There was no sign of movement, not even when the hound gave a doleful whine and nudged his nose against the crooked knee.

"Dear God," repeated Eliza, feeling as if she, too, had been struck a violent blow. Though the face was not yet visible, she had a queasy feeling that the features were going to prove all too recognizable, despite the awful battering.

A low cry was the only sound from Meredith. Taking the last few steps at a dead run, she sank down beside the man's prostrate form and took gentle hold of his shoulders.

Eliza tried to peel her sister's hands away. "Let me see to him," she demanded, hoping to spare Meredith what promised to be a horrible sight.

"No!" Even as she spoke, Meredith was already working to turn the body face up with as much care as she could. "I don't need to be protected, not from this."

Sensing that no amount of arguing would do any good, Eliza fell silent and concentrated her efforts on helping raise the body out of the mud.

It was worse than she had feared. Beneath the matted locks, the man's eyes were so pummeled as to be swollen completely shut, and his cheeks were puffed to nearly twice their normal size with deep, purpling bruises. The nose, smashed at an odd angle, was still oozing a trickle of blood that tinged the split lips a viscous red.

Meredith managed to choke down a retch, but her teeth could not keep from chattering as she unwound the torn cravat and sought for a sign of life.

Eliza forced a calmness that belied the churning of her own insides. To her vague surprise, her vocal chords cooperated and her words came out with an eerie flatness. "Is he dead?"

It was a moment before her sister was able to answer. "There is a slight pulse, but it's very weak." She raised her eyes. "I know what you think of him, but we cannot just walk away and leave him to die, Liza. We must get help!"

"I never meant—" She caught herself, realizing this was hardly the time to debate the finer points of her feelings. "Of course we must get help. And have word sent to Lord Killlingworth." Her gaze jerked back to the pitiful face staring up at them with bruise-battered eyes. "I don't suppose there is any doubt that this is his nephew?"

"It is Mr. Harkness—I recognize the signet ring on his finger. And the c-color of his hair." Again, Meredith nearly broke down in a sob after slanting look at the blood-soaked curls, but quickly regained control. "You must run to the village while I stay with—"

"No, I will stay here and you will go," countered Eliza.

"I hardly think Mr. Harkness poses any threat at the moment!"

"It is not Mr. Harkness I am thinking about, but whoever has done this to him!" She indicated the reticule by her side. "Unlike you, I do not consider it wasted effort to lug around a hunk of iron. Nor will I hesitate to use it. I'll not let any more harm come to him, so ceasing brangling with me and go!"

To her relief, any further argument seemed to die upon Meredith's lips. After no more than a moment of hesitation, she scrambled to her feet and set off toward the lane as quickly as the way would allow.

Ajax seemed torn between whether to follow her or stay behind. He trailed along for some yards, then returned to his adopted master. With a plaintive
whoof
, he stretched out at the fallen man's feet, so close that his muzzle was touching the outstretched boot.

"We'll not let any more harm come to him, I promise," murmured Eliza in response to the look of mute appeal in the hound's mournful eyes. A sigh of her own joined the soft growls. "For all the good it will do him now."

Forcing her gaze back to the bruised face, she busied herself with wiping the worst of the mud and blood from the wounds. There was little else she could do, save bandage several deep lacerations on his hands with strips torn from her petticoat and cover him with her shawl.

And to offer up a silent prayer.
To her surprise, Eliza found she was doing just that.

It seemed like an age before the sound of voices and a wagon approaching on the rutted lane announced that help had finally arrived.

"Here!" she cried in answer to a muffled shout.

Meredith appeared in a matter of minutes, followed by three men. "Is he still..."

"Yes, he's still alive," replied Eliza. She stood up, glad to relinquish her place by the young man's side to the local physician. Ajax looked up sharply, but made no protest as Dr. Yount began a quick assessment of the injuries.

The words he muttered were inaudible but his grim expression made his feeling clear enough as he examined the extent of the damage. "As nasty a piece of work as I've ever witnessed," he announced, looking up from Lucien's bruised body. "I'll do what I can, but..." The rest was left unsaid. After a moment he added, "Any idea of who would do this to the earl's nephew? And why?"

The other two local men averted their eyes and made no answer.

Eliza also remained silent, praying that her sister would not make any hasty revelations. A spasm crossed Meredith's face, but she merely bit her lip.

"Hmmph." The doctor gave them all another searching look, then wasted no more time on reflection. "Bob and Josiah, go fetch the boards from the back of my gig. We must move him carefully if we are to avoid further damage. Miss Meredith, if you will go with them and bring back my medical bag, while Miss Kirtland helps me lift..."

His gruff commands set everyone into action, and in short order Lucien had been carried out to the lane. As the three men lifted the makeshift stretcher onto the pile of straw, a rider thundered into view from around the bend, his mount spurred to a furious gallop. Before the lathered stallion came to a full halt, Marcus was out of the saddle and running to his nephew's side.

One look at the battered face caused the blood to drain from his own visage. Drawing in a sharp breath, he turned to engage in a terse conversation with the doctor. What he heard caused his expression to harden and Eliza heard him curse as he stepped forward to help the two men in strapping down the board.