Artful Deception (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 6)

by Jackson Marsh

  He manipulated the muscles beneath his clothing, his fingers working deftly until his balance was restored. Strength returned to his legs, but his stomach was no less unsettled as he dragged himself back to the flat ground. It was as if he was pulling the weight of his past behind on a leather strap, like a dog pulling a sledge laden with evil memories and unforgiven sins, and each footstep was a strain. Following the shape of the pithead, until it was to his right, he came to a stop facing a row of stone buildings.

  In the shed behind him, Fecker now stood with Crispin, his knife to his throat in case Quill arrived before Archer was ready, and when the viscount was in place, brought Crispin to stand before his brother.

  ‘Thank you, Andrej,’ Archer said, passing him a small tin from his pocket. ‘You know what to do with that?’

  ‘Da.’

  ‘Lie low and keep watch for the others. Intercept them if you must, but if you haven’t seen them by the time I play my final card, make sure you are here.’

  ‘Understood. How will I know you play card?’

  ‘Oh, trust me, Fecks. You will hear Quill scream.’

  Fecker’s cloak swished as he spun to the opposite shed, where the dusk soaked him into the shadows.

  ‘And now we wait, Crispin.’ Archer’s voice was curiously detached as if someone else had spoken through the gloaming. ‘Keep watch over my shoulder, and I over yours. We will signal if Quill approaches either of us from behind.’

  The head nodded beneath the cowl.

  Archer lifted it from the face and looked intently into the man’s eyes.

  A lantern was reflected in one, dancing like a hellish flame, while the last of the sunset glimmered in the other, reminding Archer of childhood days before Crispin succumbed to madness.

  Days that he would never know again, no matter the outcome of the night.

  ‘We were never meant to be brothers,’ he whispered, sadly. ‘Are you prepared for what I must do?’

  ‘I am,’ Crispin replied, but it was Danylo’s voice.

  ‘I am so sorry you have been caught up in this.’

  ‘And I have told you, brother. I am prepared to die.’

  ‘Then I will stand back a pace and draw my blade,’ Archer said, doing just that and throwing away the swordcane’s casing. ‘And know that when I run it through your heart, it will tear mine in two also.’

  Twenty-Four

  Listening for any sounds that would herald Quill’s arrival, Archer rested his blade on Crispin’s shoulder, ready to move it to his heart when he saw movement. With no wind and the mist dulling any vibration caused by footfall or voice, he breathed silently, taking deep breaths to steady his pulse.

  The stillness of the air reminded him of fog-bound nights aboard ship, but then, the gentle sway of the deck and the muffled lapping of water had given him comfort. Here, with nothing but the stark outline of decaying pit workings and the silence, he was exposed and vulnerable, Danylo’s eyes the only protection against a surprise attack.

  No, he thought, there is more than that. Andrej was out there watching for Smith, the others would not be far away, and Danylo knew his part. The question was, could he drag Quill to his death? Was he prepared to go to that length to protect his estate and all those who relied on it for their livelihood? Glancing from the iron crane to the seemingly bottomless pit beneath it, he remembered there were others on his side, and a little confidence returned.

  Crispin cleared his throat and cocked his head, drawing Archer’s attention. His hearing was infinitely better than Archer’s as it wasn’t until a moment later that the viscount heard the soft crush of grass beneath a foot. Crispin blinked twice before looking to Archer’s left, and following someone’s path, his head moved a fraction. Archer understood, and lowered the point of his sword to Crispin’s chest. A movement, the lightening of one shadow and the darkening of another showed a figure moving behind the opposite shed, and catching Danylo’s eye, he also blinked twice as a warning.

  The shadow became a discernible, rounded shape that shuffled as it slunk from the darkness into the twilight, and rested against the stone wall.

  ‘Hello, Benji.’ Archer’s voice cut through the still of the evening. ‘I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.’

  ‘Clearwater,’ Quill greeted him as if the two had just met for lunch. ‘Not at all. I assume you want me to believe that is your brother?’

  ‘As you asked.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Quill sighed and righted himself, taking another crippled step into the arena. ‘Your willingness to comply so readily only tells me that the man who stands before you is not Crispin.’

  ‘Oh?’ Archer feigned surprise. ‘I would have thought Smith would have convinced you. Your man was with us at the institute, albeit distantly. He makes for a terrible scout, Benji. I have seen his every move from Larkspur to here.’

  ‘And he yours, Clearwater. Turn that man around.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier if we set Crispin aside and drew pistols? I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I could murder a steak.’

  ‘Flippancy against determination.’ Quill sucked in a breath and swallowed, the flesh of his mask rippling in the lamplight that glowed brighter as the dusk thickened. ‘I fear you will need more than that to survive this night.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt it. As I also have no doubt your man is currently trying to find mine and dispatch him on your behalf. We could send the two of them away for a beer while we play your ridiculous game. Who needs assistance? Not I.’

  ‘And yet you send your boys to leave messages. Renters, servants, hired hands.’

  ‘I would rather loyal renters and retainers than corruptible earls, Benji. Kingsclere? Really? Everyone in society knows his proclivities. There’s a Sunday night discussion group at The Rag, I’m told. Not the best subject for blackmail. Now, if you’d written to me directly…’

  ‘Enough,’ Quill growled. ‘Turn that man to face me.’

  ‘With pleasure. Do step forward for a closer look.’

  Quill hesitated. ‘And have him run me through because you are too weak to do it yourself? I think not.’

  ‘Then say hello to Crispin from there. As you see, I have provided lighting, because I have nothing to hide.’

  ‘You have everything to hide, as you have everything to lose.’

  ‘And I imagine you have nothing these days.’ Archer kept his tone light, knowing it would rile the doctor. ‘I read that Mrs Quill has begun a divorce, the Medical Board has barred you, and with your brother dead, you have only your own hired hand on your side. Or am I wrong?’

  ‘Turn Crispin to me.’

  ‘Did you bring a pistol?’ Archer asked. ‘Only I didn’t. Very remis, but then, I play fair whereas you never did.’

  ‘Despite my appearance,’ Quill said, taking one step closer, ‘I remain a gentleman. Besides, with Mr Dorjan keeping watch over me, I have no need of weapons.’

  ‘Your confidence does you credit, Sir,’ Archer taunted. ‘This, I believe, is the same man who failed in his attempt to murder my dinner guests and steal a child. The boy was nine years old, Quill. My valet made a better job of capturing him than your crazed assassin. If I were you, I would dock his wages.’

  Quill spat, and shuffled his hunched shoulder one more pace.

  ‘Here is close enough,’ he said, peering at Crispin’s back.

  ‘As you wish.’ Archer poked Crispin gently with his sword. ‘Turn and face the good doctor,’ he said. ‘But remember, my blade is at your back.’

  Crispin swayed as he slowly turned himself to face Quill, his head hanging.

  ‘Head up, brother,’ Archer said, confident that Quill would not be able to tell the difference in the flickering light and at that distance.

  Crispin lifted his head,
and on seeing Quill, became agitated. His arms fought inside his cloak as if he was pulling against shackles, and a low, menacing snarl rumbled in his throat.

  ‘I don’t think he is pleased to see you, Benji,’ Archer laughed. ‘Now, I am sorry to upset your plans, but can we get on with this. Just tell me how you would like to do it.’

  ‘Crispin?’ Quill said. ‘Is that you?’

  Still growling, Crispin nodded.

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘And how will he do that, Quill? If I remove the mask, he will be free to attack me.’

  ‘He is shackled beneath his cloak?’

  ‘Care to risk taking a look?’

  ‘Huh.’ Quill was not deterred. ‘Then, tell me, Crispin, the last time we met, I taught you to say something. You will remember because you were lucid at the time, and Mr Dorjan was with us.’

  Archer remained confident. The attendant he had paid to impersonate Crispin, so Danylo could be seen leaving the institute as Dr Nevidimi, had also been present at that meeting. Crispin’s nurse, whom Archer had known and trusted for years, was more than obliging and played the part well, but being curious, had asked the reason for the charade. During the explanation, the attendant mentioned Quill’s Easter visit and gave Archer full details. He had been in the room the entire time.

  ‘Well?’ Quill encouraged. ‘You either remember, or you are not Crispin Riddington, and if you were, you would recall the words without doubt.’

  Archer gave Crispin a gentle tap on the back, and Danylo mumbled a few indecipherable sounds.

  ‘Speak up, speak clearly.’

  ‘The man is barely able to stand, Quill. How do you expect him to communicate?’

  ‘Because I am a doctor and understand the working of medicine,’ Quill sneered. ‘Whereas you are nothing more than an amateur meddler in other people’s affairs. Speak, Crispin, or I walk away.’

  Unlikely, Archer thought, and a pointless threat. Quill was here to collect Crispin, not abandon him. He was about to point this out when a distant, muffled yell pricked at his ears, causing adrenaline to pump into his chest.

  Another shock came with the sound of Crispin’s voice.

  ‘Heaven,’ Danylo said, his head lolling to one side, his words slurred and his accent British. ‘But the vision of fulfilled desire.’

  ‘Go on.’ Quill lowered his voice.

  ‘And hell, the shadow from a soul on fire.’

  ‘That’s enough, Quill,’ Archer yawned. ‘So, you taught him some of the Rubaiyat, well done. Brother, turn around and face me. The doctor is wasting our time.’

  Quill slunk back to the cover of the shed and supported himself on the door jamb.

  ‘You always did take life too lightly, Clearwater,’ he said.

  Archer kept his cool despite a rising fear that something had just happened to Fecker. ‘And, so do you, Quill,’ he said. ‘But, where I take delight in life in all its forms, you simply take life. For example, the lives of innocent renters in the East End. Honestly, Benji, could you not have thought of a less cumbersome way to attract my attention? We had lunch at the Grapevine amid it all, and still you would rather slit open another man’s heart than open your own. Why didn’t you just tell me my affair with Simon caused you so much distress? It would have saved all of this.’

  ‘This is all I have to live for,’ Quill shot back. ‘After you tried to kill me.’

  ‘We tried to prevent you from leaving the country, that was all. If you hadn’t murdered the driver, that train would not have crashed. Again, why send a trail of coded messages and not just disappear? Why desecrate Simon’s grave? Didn’t you love the man as much as I did?’

  Raging, Quill pushed himself upright, and clutched the doorframe to stop himself stumbling forward.

  ‘I didn’t love that man,’ he shouted, the lamplight catching droplets of saliva as they rained to the ground. ‘I don’t love any man, and I rejoiced in what Crispin did to your scum. I laughed when Harrington took his own life.’

  ‘Oh, Benji,’ Archer groaned. ‘You have no idea what love is, and I am sorry you shall perish without knowing it.’

  ‘This is what you make of people, Clearwater.’ Quill threw his arms wide, his anger mounting. ‘This. Me. This is what your arrogance and selfishness do to men. It deforms them. It kills them.’

  ‘Yes, all very dramatic, Benji, but time is moving on.’ Despite his misgivings, Archer antagonised the man further. ‘If you would, tell me how you intended this evening to end, and I will see what I can do. Your letter made it clear I was to bring Crispin to meet you. I assume, after that, I was simply to hand him over, draw a sword and we would fight for ownership. Shall we proceed?’

  Quill glanced beyond Archer, and his anger subsided to become the chuckle of a man who knew things others didn’t.

  ‘Brothers in Arms,’ he said. ‘Yes, that was my initial intention, and I knew you would take the bait. You treat life as a sport, the same as me, Clearwater, but tonight, we are playing by my rules.’

  ‘Are we? All we seem to be doing is chatting,’ Archer shrugged. ‘Your letter proposed that I bring Crispin to the location cut from “Brothers in Arms”, a pointless distraction if you want my opinion. I can only assume you wanted us to meet on The Invisible before it is scrapped, and I agree, there would have been some irony in that, but here, I feel is even more apt.’

  ‘Because there is a handy burial ground?’ Quill derided, waving towards the nearby mineshaft. ‘I agree. It will be useful. I doubt anyone comes here, and no-one, certainly, would clamber to the bottom on an afternoon stroll. Your body won’t be found for months.’

  ‘By which time you will have my brother on the end of your strings, and will be residing in my rooms at Larkspur. Yes, I understand, Benji, but no. My choice of location for your death was more than practical, and I thought you would appreciate the touch.’

  ‘Touch of what?’

  Archer’s arm ached, and he was becoming increasingly worried that he hadn’t heard or seen Fecker.

  ‘The touch of history,’ Archer said. ‘When this mine belonged to the Riddington family, two of my ancestors fought over it. Both ended up down there.’ He threw his head to the shaft. ‘Simple really, except they were tricked into pointless deaths, because the land had passed to the Kingsclere family, and then—and this will interest you—another family married in and took it over, became ingrained in the Kingsclere lot, and that family, strangely, was yours. Far more ironic than one of our old ships, eh?’

  It was impossible to tell if Quill understood the story or not, and it didn’t matter to Archer, he was only throwing the information Quill’s way to further confuse him.

  Unfortunately, Quill ignored it.

  ‘You try my patience,’ he said. ‘And you have a choice to make.’

  ‘Ah, good, we are getting somewhere. Carry on.’

  Quill growled before stepping forward.

  ‘I don’t want to kill you,’ he said. ‘I enjoy our games too much. Thus, I refer you to the options outlined in my letter. You can resign yourself to a life with me at your heels threatening to expose your unnatural vices until I decide to bring you to shame, or you can hand over Crispin and walk away with nothing but your vile secret. If you can’t bear the thought of that, and your vanity probably won’t let you, then feel free to jump to your death. If you fail to acquiesce, of course, then Mr Dorjan comes into play and, sadly, I will have to force you from the game.’

  ‘I just give you everything?’ Archer roared with laughter at the madman’s ridiculous suggestion. ‘And then wander off without a fight? Oh, Benji, you always were a joker. I would have no compunction at running Crispin through with my sword right now. Then where would you be? Penniless and pointless.’

  ‘This is no joke,’ Quill threatened, and drew a pistol from
beneath his cloak.

  ‘Of course,’ Archer said on seeing the gun. ‘This is you unarmed? The joke is on you, Benji. Shoot me, and you risk killing Crispin.’

  ‘I’m not going to shoot you,’ Quill laughed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before using the pistol to push his mask back into place. ‘Where would be the satisfaction in that? No, Clearwater, you have, as you always did, underestimated me. More importantly, you have underestimated my friend, Dorjan.’

  Behind Quill, figures moved from the cover of one outhouse to another. They flitted too quickly for Archer to make out if it was Fecker or Dorjan, but on hearing a familiar voice, the ground shifted beneath his feet as if the earth had trembled. A vibration entered his chest and unsteadied his arm. There was no earthquake, however, just realisation. He had been duped, had overlooked something, had thought too fast on his feet, and not planned for every eventuality.

  ‘And how have I underestimated you?’ he asked, keeping one eye on where he had seen the movement. ‘I assume you are talking about the man who unsuccessfully hid in the abbey ruins at Larkspur. The man who was so keenly interested in the hedgerows of the Kingsclere estate, and the same man who made a home on the roof of a house in Bucks Row? The idiot with no idea how to disguise himself, neither on train nor steamer, nor even while crossing a field. Your man, Quill, may be an accomplished assassin, but he is a useless spy.’

  ‘Well,’ Quill said. ‘Why don’t you say that to his face.’

  The man Archer knew as Smith stepped from the shadow of the sheds, and the viscount gasped, not at Smith, but at the person he pushed in front, struggling in his arms.

  ‘I don’t know why your boys throw themselves in the line of fire so readily,’ Quill tutted. ‘Leave him there, Dorjan. Stay on your knees, Hawkins.’

  ‘Get your hands off me, you skank!’ Silas roared, when Smith unclasped his hand from Silas’ mouth.

  The assassin ignored him, and threw Silas to the ground like a crumpled bundle of cloth.