The Black Widow (27 page)

It took her only a split second to realize that he had used both hands, and without stopping to think, she lunged for the shadow that must have been concealing the pistol.

So close—her fingertips actually touched the barrel of the gun—but Lionell was again quicker than she was. Before she could regain her balance, the pistol was once more pointed at her forehead.

“You begin to annoy me, my dear,” he said coldly. “I think the time has come to ensure that you do not interfere in this night’s work.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a silver flask and held it out to her. “Drink this,” he commanded, “and do not try any other foolish tricks. We have already determined that you are not as fast as I am, so it will avail you naught to try to throw the wine in my face.”

She hesitated, and he rose to his feet and stood over her. Pushing the barrel of the gun against her temple, he again ordered, “Drink it!” and such was the menace in his voice that she could not doubt but that he was capable of shooting her dead on the spot.

With a shudder she unscrewed the cap and lifted the flask to her lips. The wine was nauseatingly sweet, but still she was able to taste the bitterness of the laudanum with which Lionell had apparently laced it. After several swallows she began to gag, but Lionell prodded her with the pistol and commanded, “Drink every drop,” and somehow she managed to comply.

He stayed beside her while the lassitude crept up her limbs, and with her last conscious thought she wondered if he had given her enough laudanum to put her to sleep for a few hours ... or forever. But the question no longer seemed important.

* * * *

Her wedding morning did not dawn any too soon for Meribe. The night had been overly long, and she had lain awake through most of it, her body tense, her ears straining to hear any sounds of a scuffle coming from Demetrius’s room. Not that she could have heard anything through the thick walls and solid oaken doors of Thorverton Hall.

Lying there wondering how long she would need to wait before she could reasonably ring for Jane, Meribe heard a scratching at her door.

She hurriedly climbed out of bed, pulled on a robe, and opened the door a crack.

Lionell Rudd stood there, but it was a Lionell she had never seen before. His jacket looked as if he had slept in it, his cravat was askew, and most astonishing of all, he was wringing his hands and appeared to be crying.

Thrown into a panic, Meribe grabbed his arm and dragged him into her room, most improperly shutting the door behind them. “What has happened? Has Demetrius been hurt? Oh, tell me, for I cannot bear this suspense.”

“No, no, he is all right,” Lionell managed to gasp out. “But my poor Hester—how could she have done such a vile thing? I had no idea ...”

Seizing him by the shoulders, Meribe shook the little man until he ceased his useless wailing. “Now, tell me what has happened,” she said with a calmness she was far from feeling.

He hiccupped once, then blurted out, “She tried to enter Lord Thorverton’s room—she had a dagger, and it was obvious what she intended to do. She was like a madwoman, but Hennessey and Swinton managed to subdue her, and they sent me ...” He hiccupped again. “They sent me to fetch you. They are even now smuggling Hester out of the house, and we are to meet them just outside the gates.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “They told me to be sure none of the servants see us, else there will be a terrible scandal. Oh, dear, this is all so dreadful.’’

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Meribe said, opening the door and peering down the corridor. No one was in sight in either direction, so she pushed the dandy out of her room. Before she shut the door, she whispered, “I shall meet you below in the library in ten minutes—no, in five minutes.”

The driveway leading up to Thorverton Hall was long, and Meribe was frequently forced to pause so that Lionell could catch up with her. Then, spotting a closed carriage ahead, she abandoned the dandy, held up her skirts, and ran toward the vehicle, her feet fairly flying across the gravel.

“Demetrius, are you all right?” she cried, flinging open the door and peering into the shadowy interior.

The coach was empty—no Hester, no Demetrius, no one. Turning, she saw Lionell surprisingly near her, and the expression on his face made it immediately obvious that he had tricked her.

Instinctively she backed away from him, and to her dismay, she bumped into another person, who was so solidly built he did not even stagger. She gasped, but before she could cry for help, a large meaty hand covered her mouth and a harsh voice rasped in her ear.

“There’s no cause to struggle, missy. It’ll do you no good, and if’n you’re not careful, you’ll hurt yourself.”

She did struggle, but the man was right: her efforts were pointless.

A second ruffian joined the first, and as they were both armed with wicked-looking horse pistols, Meribe was soon seated in the coach beside Lionell, who was smiling in the most odious manner. On the opposite seat, the larger of the two ruffians was likewise grinning at her—and even worse, his gun was pointed directly at her chest.

Demetrius was bound to come after her, Meribe realized, and when he did, he would be facing three armed and dangerous men. If only there was something she could do to lessen the odds against him. But the man seated opposite her was no weakling like Lionell. A heavyset man, he was wearing a shabby gray-brown overcoat, and so fierce did he look, she could well believe he was in the habit of shooting one or two people before breakfast every day.

Despite her efforts to be optimistic, an image filled her mind—an image of Demetrius riding to her rescue—followed by a second image of him lying on the ground, a bullet hole through his chest. She should never have—but such thoughts were useless now—worse than useless, in fact. She had no time to waste wallowing in self-recriminations. What she needed to do was devote all her energies to discovering a way to escape from Lionell’s trap.

Knowledge was power, her governess had always told her, so perhaps if she learned more about what this madman had done, she might be able to figure out a way to outwit him. There was only the slightest chance of success, but she had to make every effort. Trying to keep her voice from trembling, she asked, “Do you mind explaining to me where we are going and why?’’

Lionell smiled—no, she realized, it was actually more of a leer. “I found, my beloved, that when it came down to it, I could not allow you to marry another. I could not even bear the thought of another man holding your hand, much less—”

“What rubbish!” Meribe exclaimed. “If you expect me to believe that you care one whit about me, then you are deluding yourself, for it is quite obvious you love only yourself—and perhaps your tailor.”

His laughter grated on her nerves, and she clenched her fists to keep from slapping him. “I see we shall deal famously, my sweet. I also prefer dealing frankly, and indeed, you are quite correct—it is only your father’s money I love, not your person, and that is why I have done my poor best to see that you did not squander his fortune on another man. My friends here have therefore arranged for a yacht to be waiting for us in Exmouth, and once we are at sea, the captain has agreed—for a fee, of course—to marry us.”

In a pig’s eye, Meribe wanted to say. She had never been so angry in her life, but with two pistols pointed at her, she had to maintain a calm facade even while she was seething inside. “So you are the one who hired Black Jack Brannigan to kill poor Collingwood and Thurwell and Arleton and Fellerman?” So little emotion was in her voice, she might have been asking about the weather.

“In truth, it was not necessary for me to kill Collingwood. But his accident was most fortuitous for me. When you were left at the altar, so to speak, I realized that all I needed to do was hire Black Jack to kill off all your suitors, one by one, and then after Hester inherited your father’s fortune, I could marry her and be a rich man. But Black Jack failed to kill Thorverton, and then, like a fool, he came looking for me and wanted fifty guineas from me despite his lack of success. When I refused to give him a farthing—and indeed, why should I pay for a job not completed to my satisfaction?—the man threatened me, and I was forced to shoot him.

“Looking back on it, I can see I acted a bit rashly. I should have tricked him into giving me the name of another assassin before I killed him. Do you know, it is not as easy as one might think to find a professional killer for hire. It took me far too long to find my two new associates.”

Clenching her hands in her lap, Meribe asked, “And was it you yourself, then, who poisoned Mr. Wimbwell?”

Lionell smirked. “I did that very cleverly, you must admit. I acquired the poison several years ago, thinking it might come in handy, and so it did. He was such a stupid old man, coming to Hester and telling her his suspicions. If he had gone to the authorities and laid information against us, all would have been lost.”

Hester—dear lord, was it true, had she indeed condoned the murders? “And what about my sister? Is she meeting us later?”

Now there was more than anger to be seen in Lionell’s face; now Meribe could see the madness that had been festering away all these years in his soul.

“The devil take that sharp-tongued harpy! After all I have done for her, she has had the gall to try to cheat me out of my due. Last night she claimed she had never made a bargain with me ... insisted she had not even known I was arranging all those murders ... pretended she had said nothing to lead me to think that she would marry me if I helped her inherit a fortune.”

“And did she ever say anything?” Meribe asked, praying that his answer would be what she wanted to hear. “Did she actually come right out and say, ‘Yes, Lionell, I will marry you’? Did she ever ask you directly to kill anyone?”

He now looked as sulky as a spoiled child who has been crossed for the first time. “I don’t remember if she ever used the word ‘murder,’ but what difference does it make? She kept whining to me about how you would inherit everything, and she told me repeatedly that she wished you were not going to marry and thereby gain possession of the fortune that should have gone to her as the elder child. To my way of thinking, that is the same thing as asking for me to arrange things so that they would fall out to her benefit.”

To Meribe’s way of thinking, it was nothing of the sort, and despite the dreadful situation she found herself in, she felt a vast relief that Hester had not been involved in the murders.

“But I have taken care of your sister. Last night she made the mistake of trying to escape me. She was even going to warn Thorverton of my intentions. But I am nothing if not well-prepared, and I simply held my pistol to her head and forced her to drink all the wine in my flask.” He smiled to himself, and began to stroke the barrel of his gun.

Meribe had an ominous feeling that the wine might likewise have been poisoned. “Did you ... did you put something in the wine?” she asked, trying to inject a note of admiration into her voice.

Turning to her, Lionell preened as if she had complimented him on a new waistcoat. “Just some laudanum so she will sleep.”

Some of Meribe’s relief must have shown on her face, because his smile became malicious and he added, “On the other hand, I may have put in too much of the powder that brings us dreams, who is to say? Perhaps she will sleep the sleep from which no one awakens. That would make six sent to their cold, dark graves—the first three I had my hireling kill, and the last three I have murdered myself. There is a certain symmetry in that, which I find most pleasing.”

* * * *

By the time Demetrius woke up, the sun had already burned the mist off the moor, and the day promised to be fair. Standing at the window, it occurred to him that this was the last morning he would wake up alone in his bed. Excitement began to curl its tendrils through every muscle and sinew of his body, and he stretched his limbs until every joint popped. Much to his surprise, he had slept deeply, and he now felt well-rested and clearheaded.

The same could not be said for his two companions, Thomas Hennessey and Uncle Humphrey, who emerged from behind their curtains bleary-eyed with fatigue.

“The next time we do this,” Hennessey said, coming up beside him, “I volunteer to be the one sleeping in the bed, and you can hide behind the curtains.” Then, moving as stiffly and slowly as a very old man, he walked over to the bed and collapsed facedown upon it.

Demetrius turned away from the window and began to dress himself, his mind preoccupied with visions of undressing his own fair lady. Only a few more hours, and he would be leading her back into this room.

“If there is a next time,” Humphrey said with a gigantic yawn, “I shall ... I shall ...”He yawned again. “I shall bring a deck of marked cards and then at least in the morning I shall have something to show for my efforts. Dash my wig, but I could almost think that wretched woman’s niece has deliberately stayed in her own room just so we would have to suffer the whole night through.”

There was a moment’s silence, while Demetrius—and apparently the other two men as well—thought about the possible significance of the night’s want of excitement. There must be some reason for the lack of action, some nefarious purpose that they had not yet discovered.

“When is the parson coming?” Hennessey asked.

“Eleven,” Demetrius replied, pulling on his boots.

Hennessey looked at the clock on the mantel. “That means she has only three hours in which to make her move. Frankly, I did not anticipate that she would wait until the last minute. Now that it is broad daylight, it will be that much more difficult for her to escape detection since the servants will be up and about.’’

“You don’t suppose she means to waylay the vicar, do you?” Uncle Humphrey asked. “Prevent him from performing the ceremony?”

“That would be pointless,” Hennessey replied. “She’d have to keep him prisoner for days, and besides, what’s to stop us from finding another parson able to perform the ceremony?”

Demetrius felt a chill envelop his body. There were only two people who were crucial to a wedding—the bridegroom and the bride. With an oath, he ran from the room, hurrying down the corridor to Meribe’s room and throwing open her door without pausing to knock.