by Alyssa Drake
Sam’s eyes skipped about the room again, focusing on the door leading into the sitting room. How would she escape? If she charged Franklin, would she have enough strength to knock him over? Where was Mrs. Clark? Surely, she would not permit Franklin to slaughter Sam. Sam took a deep breath to calm the macabre thoughts dancing through her imagination.
Franklin tilted his head, baring his teeth. “There is no one to hear your scream.”
“M-M-Mrs. Clark?” Panic bubbled in her throat.
“Mrs. Clark is happily working at my country estate. She refuses to visit town for any reason; she has never been to this apartment, nor does she know of its existence.”
“Why, Franklin?” Sam asked, her eyes flashing back to the grimy window. She needed a distraction. Conceivably, she could squeeze through it and climb down the roof to safety. She could also slip on the loose slate and fall to her death.
“I think you are going to be more of a nuisance than I originally anticipated.” Without warning, Franklin lunged forward and struck Sam with the plate. It split in two as it crashed down on Sam’s head, sending the fruit and cheese flying in various directions. Sam crumbled to the floor, unconscious.
Humming, Franklin stepped over Sam’s immobile form and extracted a rope hidden underneath the bed. He dumped Sam’s body unceremoniously on the mattress and lashed both her arms together at the wrists. His eyes fell on the rose-scented paper. Plucking it from the floorboard, he laid it on the desk, and sat down, staring at the blank page. With a nod, he lifted the quill from the inkwell and penned a quick message. Leaning out the window, he called over a boy passing underneath, tossing the letter and a coin to him with strict instructions to deliver the message to the Westwood estate.
Wilhelmina scoured the house for Samantha, stomping through empty rooms, snarling at the staff. As she crossed the foyer, a knock sounded at the front door. Scowling, she jerked open the door, her eyes falling on a small boy who held out the missive with a trembling hand. Once his soiled fingers released the note to Wilhelmina, he spun and dashed off, running until his legs became a blur of gray.
Ripping open the letter, Wilhelmina pursed her lips, expecting to read the far-fetched excuse Sam invented in order to forego her own engagement party. Instead, Wilhelmina fainted.
* * *
Mr. Hastings,
I bid you good afternoon. I wish to thank you for the generous donation of your sister’s life to my worthy cause. Interestingly, Miss Hastings seemed more than willing to assist me with my current endeavor. If she proves most helpful, I shall return her body to you for a proper funeral. However, if she becomes willful, as she has proven to be in the past, I regret I will only be able to return pieces of her to you.
Rest assured, once I have found my inheritance, I will no longer haunt your family. I appreciate your patience in this matter.
Please give my regrets to Lord Westwood for stealing his fiancée so young. However, I do believe he will be happier without her.
Chapter Two
Benjamin bolted from the kitchen, barreling through the swinging door, catching the toe of his boot on the carpet runner. He tripped and crashed into the back of a dining room chair. Its current occupant, Miss Daphne Clemens, screamed and knocked her plate to the floor, shattering the china. Pieces shot across the floor, ricocheting off the walls.
Get to Samantha.
The thought echoed in Benjamin’s mind, desperation racing through his veins. He needed to get back to Westwood Estate and warn Edward before Franklin Morris had a chance to attack.
They’d never expect Morris, he was family, and a close companion of Miss Hastings’ They would let him into the house without question—a wolf in the henhouse.
Benjamin shoved off the back of the chair with a grunt, spun toward the exit, and stumbled across the room, smashing into the door with his shoulder.
“Nephew!” Aunt Abigail slammed her hands on the table, rising to her feet. “Apologize to Miss Clemens.”
Benjamin froze, his hand flat against the half-open door. Aunt Abigail was his elder… He deflated under decorum and turned, his somber gaze locking on his aunt. Benjamin swallowed, his eyes flicking to Miss Clemens, who trembled, winding her napkin around her fingers.
“Miss Clemens, please forgive me for my brutish manner.” He bowed slowly so as not to startle her further and flashed a dazzling smile. Every nerve in his body railed at the delay.
Samantha was in danger…
Miss Clemens blushed, clearly embarrassed to be singled out. She managed the barest of nods, dropping her eyes to the tablecloth, murmuring, “Thank you.”
Aunt Abigail sat, replacing the napkin on her lap and picked up her fork. She eyed Benjamin and cleared her throat. “Tell me, what has you in such a hurry all of a sudden?”
“Mr. Morris is responsible for the death of his cousin, Mr. Matthew Hastings and the attempted murder of his son, Edward.” The words burst from Benjamin. Miss Clemens gasped, paling.
Arching an eyebrow, Aunt Abigail placed her fork on the plate, her face blank. “How did you come by this accusation?”
Benjamin stepped forward and clasped his hands together as though he were reciting a lesson in school. “Mrs. Grace’s brother worked for the Hastings’ family at the time of the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Hastings.”
“He did,” nodded Aunt Abigail. “Such a shame that Mr. Grace died so suddenly…”
“The physician attending the death made an error,” Benjamin ground out the word. Error was the wrong word, but he wasn’t sure how much he could trust Aunt Abigail’s young charge.
“What kind of error?” Aunt Abigail asked, tilting her head.
“Edward’s father was poisoned.”
Her jaw dropped. “Was Mr. Grace murdered too?”
“It is quite possible,” Benjamin replied, his eyes sliding toward the window.
He was wasting time.
Aunt Abigail pursed her lips, her gaze landing on Miss Clemens. Whatever questions flew through her mind, she kept to herself. She flicked her wrist toward the door, shooing Benjamin from the room.
“Go, Benjamin. You may explain the details to me at some other time.”
Benjamin nodded, bowing to both his aunt and Miss Clemens before disappearing into the hallway. He burst through the front door, leaping from the porch, bypassing four steps which led to the footpath. An empty street greeted him, compounding his frantic despair.
Where was his carriage?
Neither Mr. Davis, his manservant, nor the coach waited at the curb. Panic lodged in Benjamin’s throat. In all his years of service, Mr. Davis had never abandoned his post.
Had Morris attacked Mr. Davis?
Turning to his left, Benjamin dashed to the corner. Eddies of mist danced down the street, dampening everything they brushed. His eyes searched for his coach, a coach, any coach… nothing, not even the whiny of a horse. Benjamin growled.
A familiar sound, wheels on the cobblestone, pricked his ears,. He spun around, squinting. One lone carriage traveled along the far side of the park. Benjamin dashed back down the road toward Aunt Abigail’s house.
The coach approached at a rapid pace, rounding the second corner of the commons and rapidly heading in his direction.
Perchance he could convince the occupant to provide him with emergency transportation.
Waving his arms, Benjamin stepped into the street. The carriage veered off its current path and drove straight toward him. However, as the carriage continued to bear down on Benjamin, it refused to slow.
Realizing the danger too late, Benjamin did not jump out of the path of the coach in time. The wheel struck him in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He flew backward, crashing into the stairs, cracking his head on the top step. He groaned, bouncing down the steps, rolling toward the street. His body came to rest on the edge of the curb, his long limbs dangling in the street.
The coach evaporated around another corner, leaving no trace of its transgression. Benjamin lai
d bleeding, alone, and indiscernible in the early morning fog. His eyes closed, his last conscious thought of Miss Hastings.
“What happened to you?” Thomas’ voice broke through the blackness.
Benjamin’s eyes snapped open. He was staring at a ceiling, more precisely, Aunt Abigail’s ceiling. With a grunt, Benjamin attempted to sit up but found his movement restricted by a heavy weight. Rolling his head to the right, tiny lights danced in front of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them, then reopened them, focusing on the mirror image of himself.
“Nice to see you again, dear brother.” Thomas grinned, lifting his hand from Benjamin’s chest and saluting.
“Samantha,” Benjamin said, shoving his twin brother off the settee and struggling into a sitting position.
“Aunt Abigail sent word to Mother, warning her not to allow Morris on the property,” Thomas replied with an exaggerated eye roll, claiming the chair next to Benjamin. Leaning forward, Thomas snatched the last cookie from a crumb-covered plate.
Benjamin sighed deeply as the tension melted out of his body, allowing pain to ebb into his muscles. He leaned back against the settee, agony rolling through his limbs.
“How did you know where to find me?”
Thomas chewed slowly. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Grace, found you sprawled—unconscious—and alerted Aunt Abigail. She, Miss Clemens, and Mrs. Grace managed to drag you up the stairs and into the sitting room. Although considering your size, I am surprised they were able to lift you. It must have been a sight. What happened?”
“I was struck by a carriage.” Benjamin rubbed his forehead, his muscles aching, protesting the movement.
“Who did you anger this time?” Thomas wiggled his eyebrows.
Benjamin ignored his brother’s teasing. “I do not know, I couldn’t see the driver.”
Thomas’ playful demeanor evaporated. “Do you think it was Morris?”
Shaking his head, Benjamin shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“I am curious to learn how you were hit. Did the carriage travel off the road?”
“I was standing in the middle of the street.”
“Why?”
“My coach vanished,” Benjamin snapped. He shifted, pain radiating through his leg. He sucked in a sharp breath, clamping his teeth together.
Mr. Davis was due a severe reprimand for abandoning his post.
Thomas glanced upward, a frown tugged at his mouth. “That may have been my fault…”
“May?” Benjamin’s eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Davis returned to collect me from the estate.”
“It would have been much more convenient to travel together.” Benjamin grumbled, his teeth grinding in irritation.
“Ideally, yes.” Thomas offered him a small grin. “However, only chickens and you are awake at such an early hour.”
They sat silent for a minute. Thomas focused his attention on the large window in the center of the far wall. Ignoring a second painful gasp from Benjamin, he feigned interest in a magpie cawing from a tree branch near the pane.
Benjamin spoke first. “I would like to know how the ladies were able to find you so quickly.”
“In accordance with our discussion last evening, I went to the club to glean information from the male gossips in town.” Thomas smiled a lopsided grin. “Apparently, I am a rather predictable man as I was summoned to the main lobby not five minutes after I arrived.”
“Aunt Abigail went to a gentlemen’s club?” Benjamin asked incredulously. Of course, she would know exactly where to find Thomas. He could actually imagine her marching into the club, swinging her cane, dragging Thomas out by his ear.
“Certainly not.” Thomas scoffed. “She sent Miss Clemens.”
Benjamin choked and coughed twice. “I would love to hear that story.”
Thomas glared witheringly at Benjamin. “Like a proper lady, Miss Clemens waited outside the building after giving the message to the concierge.”
“I hope you did not keep her waiting too long,” said Benjamin.
“Of course not,” replied Thomas, his eyes flashing with indignation.
“And?”
“And then I escorted Miss Clemens back here so I could attend to you.”
“I see.” Benjamin pursed his lips to hide a smile. “I wonder why Aunt Abigail sent Miss Clemens to fetch you instead of Mr. Davis or even Mrs. Grace.”
“Mr. Davis had not yet returned to Aunt Abigail’s house, having just delivered me to the club. As the matter was of some urgency, Aunt Abigail sent the first able person she found.”
“Surely Mrs. Grace would be more adept at fetching men from gentlemen’s clubs than naive Miss Clemens,” replied Benjamin.
“Miss Clemens did seem very much out of her element when I discovered her loitering outside,” Thomas said, his voice tightened. “Several gentlemen—if you use the word loosely—were unsuccessfully attempting to gain her favor.”
Benjamin’s gaze dropped to Thomas’ hands, fresh cuts decorated his knuckles. “Am I to understand you were forced to intervene on Miss Clemens behalf, due to these gentlemen’s inappropriate advances?”
“Yes,” growled Thomas, an intriguing luminescence blazing from his brown eyes. “I needed to educate them on proper behavior in the presence of a lady.”
Benjamin raised an eyebrow at the protective tone in Thomas’ voice. “What happened?”
“One of the men offered a rather disgusting proposal, endeavoring to shepherd Miss Clemens into the nearby alley in order to allow him the opportunity to take liberties. She was effectively trapped between his body and the side of the building.” Thomas’ hand clenched at the memory.
“What was Miss Clemens’ reaction?” asked Benjamin, leaning forward despite the objection from his bruised body.
“She stated ‘No,’ and the man refused to release her. Consequently, she slapped him.”
Benjamin burst out laughing. “It appears as though Miss Clemens may have received some etiquette lessons from Miss Hastings.”
“The man did not find her response as amusing,” Thomas replied grimly, his face continuing to hold a dark, almost fierce snarl. “He raised his hand to strike Miss Clemens. I intervened before he had the opportunity to hit her.”
“As you should have.” Benjamin nodded in agreement. Even with Thomas’ sordid reputation, he would never allow a lady to come to any harm, including sweet, naïve Miss Clemens. Benjamin smirked, thinking there may be a wedding in Thomas’ future as well. Especially if Thomas continued rescuing Miss Clemens.
“I suppose we must add one more person to the growing list of society members who are not our supporters.” Thomas did not seem the least bit concerned regarding this last announcement.
“Who was the man?” asked Benjamin, leaning back. He prayed the scoundrel was not the son of a business partner.
“Mr. Robert Shirely,” spat Thomas as if the words themselves tasted repulsive.
“Miss Shirely’s brother? I thought he was away at university.”
“Apparently, he is no longer welcome at the school,” Thomas replied. “The story surrounding his expulsion is murky. However, the rumors circling the club claim Mr. Shirley nearly beat another student to death.”
Benjamin adjusted his leg, swallowing a groan. “Was there a reason for the use of excessive violence?”
“Mr. Shirely accused the boy of theft.”
“Was the student guilty?”
“No.” Thomas flashed a cheeky grin. “Thankfully, you came to your senses and chose not to unite that family with ours.”
Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Did Miss Clemens discuss the incident with you on the walk back to Aunt Abigail’s house?”
Thomas shook his head. “We returned in your carriage; Aunt Abigail dispatched Mr. Davis the moment he arrived at her townhouse. He pulled up just as I expressed my displeasure with Mr. Shirely.”
“How did Miss Clemens react to your chivalrous deed?” asked Benjamin nonchalantly. He was becoming
as meddlesome as his mother.
“Miss Clemens barely spoke four words during the journey. I think the experience severely upset her. I hoped Aunt Abigail would be a confidant in this delicate matter.” Thomas’ gaze slid ruefully toward the empty cookie plate. He pressed his finger to the china, collecting the crumbs, and then sucked them from his fingertip.
“You are quite sure it was four words?” Benjamin grinned, unable to forgo an occasion to tease his brother.
“Thank you, Mr. Reid.” Thomas counted each word with his fingers. “The rest of the time we rode in complete silence.”
“Where are Aunt Abigail and Miss Clemens at this present time?”
“Both ladies left for the engagement luncheon at Mother’s estate, not ten minutes ago. Mr. Davis drove them in your carriage.”
“You decided not to attend?” Benjamin laughed.
“I sacrificed my stomach and stayed behind to care for the invalid,” replied Thomas. “You may express your gratitude for this sacrificial gesture.”
“Thank you for stealing my carriage.” Benjamin leaned back, closing his eyes.
“Borrowing,” replied Thomas.
“Am I to assume you did not learn any information during your brief visit to the club?” Benjamin sighed, his body throbbing.
“Unfortunately, not.”
Opening his eyes, Benjamin touched a bruise on the right side of his face, grimacing. “We should return to the estate as well. With Morris exposed as the murderer, we will need to plan our next move.”
A light tapping came on the sitting-room door. Mrs. Grace opened the door and peered around the room. “Lord Westwood, I am pleased to see you are conscious again. I apologize for the interruption, however, this missive just arrived.”
Thomas rose and accepted the letter from Mrs. Grace. “It is Edward’s writing,” he said as he tore open the seal. His jaw dropped. Wordlessly, Thomas passed the note to Benjamin. Only three words were scrawled on the paper—three little words—and Benjamin’s world shattered.
* * *