I circled the room to kill time, finding Rother elsewhere. A strange blessing for sure, but a momentary one. It wasn’t as if he was willing to let me go. Not just yet.
Clients today were a rough stock of common men with a few coins to spend. I still greeted them when I ventured close, but kept a professional distance as I’d been taught. The lessons had been useful and honest even if the instructor was not.
Either way, presenting a house divided was poor form and spoke of internal strife. A lesson I’d learned from Deilia and Delaga House both. Whatever was vexing Rother tonight didn’t need to spill into the public eye. With a resigned sigh, I returned to his side. Thankfully I didn’t need to engage him on my return as Anna, one of the waitstaff, made a direct path to us.
“I hate to bother you, Rother, but I just overheard something between a few customers.” Anna glanced over her shoulder at a pair of men chatting. Congenial enough to entertain like a prostitute, but lacking the interest, men often enjoyed Anna’s company without the promise of a physical encounter. Her personable manner granted her many tips and bold gossip.
“Heard what?” My husband showed minimal enthusiasm.
Anna hesitated, an unusual trait for her. “Another customer was mugged on the way home.”
Rother perked. “When?”
“The other night sometime after we closed.”
I couldn’t suppress a shiver of alarm. “Is the man all right?”
Anna dipped her head so she didn’t have to meet our eyes. “It… it doesn’t look that way.”
More people suffering or dead with a connection to Delaga House? Coincidence was not a believable theory. No matter how paranoid Rother had become, I agreed Avaston had a hand in all of this. And yes, it was simply “Avaston” and not “Mr. Avaston.” The automatic respect I was taught to give others now had to be earned. When would this end?
“Do you know who it was?”
Anna shook her head. “They didn’t know for sure. They thought it was one of the mill workers.”
While not an absolute confirmation, their whispers told me Ben Tillus successfully made his way home. I’d sent him out the door. It would crush me to think I’d pushed him into a hole with the promise of love and happiness.
Rother growled as he near-dragged Anna farther into a corner by her arm for privacy. “Why am I just hearing about this? Worthingfield was supposed to keep us updated.”
The constable’s commitment to Rother might have been less solid these days, but I wasn’t fool enough to point it out. “Perhaps his investigation is filling his schedule.”
“A likely excuse.” A jerk of his head gave Anna her orders. “Get back to serving and let me know if you hear anything else.”
Serving tray in hand, Anna shifted back to work with a nod. I followed her journey between men, taking orders and chumming up to them. Smooth as a watch’s sweep wheel, she fleeced them for information, and I doubted any of them knew it.
Anna’s skill didn’t shield us from the pall of new tragedy. Poor numbers were enough to sour the evening, but this put it all into perspective. Avaston’s interference was escalating. The deaths of Martinique and this other man were soul-wrenching enough. How long before something catastrophic resulted out of this ridiculous vendetta?
Sallow-skinned and focusing past the wall, Rother looked lost. He had to know he was drowning in a river wider than he could swim. Avaston’s wrath was building to some unknowable climax as he made victims of others around us. How much time would Rother and I have? For all his faults, I needed Rother as an ally. Working together was our best defense.
Showing my best sympathy, I touched Rother’s arm, hoping not to startle him. “Is there something I can do to help?”
Hazy eyes found my touch, and Rother snapped back to himself in an instant. He dislodged my hand with a shrug and spat disdain down his nose at me.
“Remember who’s in charge. We must all be aware of the consequences of bad behavior.”
I was too stunned to move as Rother left me standing alone in the salon to watch his customers from a different vantage point. What in the world was he talking about? And more… who was this comment aimed at?
Perhaps the best option was to find the bartender and order myself a whiskey, because I had no intention of chasing after him and asking. Whatever Rother’s internal debate, I wanted no part of it.
Although I couldn’t get the phrase out of my head.
We must all be aware of the consequences of bad behavior.
Truth be told, we all had our secrets to confess when the time came. Rother certainly was no stranger to the concept, having built his crumbling empire on the decadence of others, and his own. Was he finally seeing some kind of divine retribution for his sins? I doubted it. Not divine, at least. His greatest allies were dead or unaccounted for, leaving his armor unbuckled. Not a comforting thought at night.
Consequences.
There had to be events in Rother’s past—many beyond my knowledge—which were damning. Hiding or abetting a fugitive from justice? Wronging a powerful man? Committing an unforgivable crime? Rother had done all of these and more.
And then a spark of realization burst to life in the maelstrom of my thoughts.
Everything was in place. It had been for some time, and I felt stupid for not seeing it.
My heart raced. It was happening. Now. For real.
I strode over to the bar and ordered myself the whiskey I’d wished for earlier. The bartender poured the liquor too slowly for my liking, but I swallowed my impatience. I forced myself to slow down. There was no rush. The evening was far from over.
One sip. Two sips. The whiskey burned as I leaned against the bar, happy Rother continued to keep his distance. I made a point not to drink too fast. The point was to calm me, not distort my focus. Clear-headed was the only useful state of mind.
Keeping casual, I continued my vigilance of the house until I noticed Blythe coming down the main staircase. I left my position, passing him at the foot of the stairs. Making sure to keep my head forward so it didn’t appear any words were being shared, I cast him a message.
“When you get the chance, meet me upstairs. We have to talk. Tonight.”
Blythe gave a soft grunt, showing me his assent, and I kept walking past the staircase and through the salon. I dodged a waiter leaving the kitchen as I exited the main area and left the customers and Rother behind.
I wasted no time heading up the rear stairwell, thankful for the lack of household members, their duties keeping them to the main floor. I only passed the rare servant between the first two floors. These stairs were unused to reach any higher levels during business hours, and customers were herded away from this passage.
Only one thing remained to accomplish. Since the last letter I’d waited for my opportunity, but Rother haunted his office when he wasn’t lording over me. This would be my only chance, while he was distracted by his floundering business. There was still risk involved, but a house of witnesses might grant me a chance to save myself if it all went wrong. I knew how to make noise.
The work in the office wouldn’t take long, but I needed the right tool. And that tool lived upstairs in the bedroom with the rest.
No one sighted me on the top floor, as expected, and I made a brisk walk to our bedroom. It might not have been as inconspicuous as I’d like, but anticipation drove me forward.
One more quick spin to be sure I was alone, and I vanished into the bedroom. The scene inside brought me to a halt.
The armoire was open, one door off its hinge, contents spilled out onto the floor. Our belongings littered the room, torn out of every drawer and strewn about. Both end tables were broken open. Rother’s personal items were broken or dumped out, and the desk had suffered from a violent disembowelment. My inkwell had been shattered against the wall, bleeding black down the plaster. Spare parchment was scattered through the room, blown into every corner as if by a petulant wind.
When did this happen? After
the doors opened so everyone would be floors away? So the search could be made unwitnessed?
The mantel clock lay facedown in a shattered heap before the fireplace. The back was blown open, littering the hearth in glass and precision gears. My heart stopped. All the letters had been hidden inside. This could be devastating, my plans laid bare in one sweep, leaving me vulnerable in ways I could only imagine.
Had they been found?
My ears pricked up at quiet voices in the hall, freezing my search. Two voices, in fact. One female, and one male that wasn’t Rother, I was sure. Were they responsible for this mess? If not, I needed them gone so I could continue. If this was one of the staff bringing a man up to their room instead of the third floor, I could send them off with a threat to tell Rother.
Inching up to the doorway, I continued to hear murmurs but couldn’t make out anything specific. No one stood in the hall, but the voices were drifting from an open bedroom door. I needed to sneak forward to peek on the trespassers. From there I could decide the best action.
I halted. Was I completely deficient? I didn’t have a clue who was up here with me, and I was alone. Idiot. The bedroom had already been torn apart. It was time to backtrack and hide in there until whoever it was departed and I could continue.
The world became glaringly bright as Vivian stepped into the hallway, followed by Avaston.
“I told you, when customers are in, no one’s on this floor or the basement.”
No, no, no. They shouldn’t be here. Not now, not now. They both saw me and no one dared move, waiting to gauge the other’s reaction. Time stretched into the infinite moment of the hunt, defining predator and prey. The main stair divided us, but at this distance I’d never reach it to escape.
Avaston broke the detente, charging forward, a human locomotive. Flee! Hell on my heels, I spun and dashed for the bedroom, intending to lock myself in. Inside I whirled, swinging the door closed only to have Avaston bull through before I could latch it shut. Slammed backward, I bounced on my back and skidded. The random debris on the floor clawed at me through my clothing.
“Come here, ya little bitch!” Avaston pounced, his snarl a cruel mask of promised bloodshed. With two fistfuls of my jacket, he hauled me up until my feet barely grazed the floorboards.
Terror screamed its unholy cadence inside me, as I knew no one would hear me up here. No one would know. I was so close. It wasn’t fair. And in that instant, I refused to go quietly.
With all my might, I stomped on Avaston’s thigh, driving my heel just above his knee. He roared, one of his hands opening, and dropped to one knee, nearly dragging me to the ground. Like Alexandra in the alley, I struck him hard and fast in every soft spot I could find. His throat. His ear. His groin. Not giving him time to recover even when blood spewed out of his nose. He was so much bigger and stronger than me, but he wasn’t prepared for more than a spoiled waif. It was all he could do to use his one free hand to shield himself, but he held fast with the other.
Let me go!
I kicked him hard in the stomach and something smashed me from behind. The flare of daggers across my head and shoulders stole my momentum. Avaston jumped up, grabbed me tight, and used all his weight to crash me into the floor.
Darkness faded in and out as I gasped over and over. I couldn’t scream in pain, only giving off pitiful wheezes like a drowning fish because my lungs refused to take proper air. Vivian dropped whatever she’d struck me with while Avaston dragged me to the foot of the bed. My vision swam, and the clumsy fight I put up was laughable. I couldn’t stop him from using a sheet to tie me to the bed frame.
As my head began to clear, a few tears leaked down my face, dripping off my chin. So close. So far. All my efforts were tattered.
Raising my head, I found Avaston wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Vivian crouched close, far too pleased with herself. “You don’t look so special now.”
Why I calmed enough to start breathing again I didn’t know, because there was nothing tranquil about my situation. “Why are you here? You said you didn’t want Delaga House.”
Avaston reached into his jacket and dragged out his pocket watch, checking the time. “A little payback. You killed David.”
“No, I didn’t. He tried to kill me. Remember?”
“You, your people, it’s all the same. He’s gone and someone has to pay for that. David was like a son to me. It wasn’t right the way you left him in the gutter.”
“David was ghoulish. He promised to do that and more to me. A son to you. Maybe if you’d raised him better, your son would still be alive.”
“Blood’s on your hands. Those things can’t be forgotten.”
Dumbstruck, I couldn’t fathom the logic. The fact David struck first and we defended ourselves was an inconvenient detail. The “father” was as psychotic as his “son.”
And for the first time, Avaston actually looked the part.
Boorish and crude, Avaston tried to exude some kind of class even though he had no knowledge of how. Here he paced, refusing to stand still. His usually neat hair stood up in places as if it had been raked through with his fingers more than once. The buttons on his shirt were out of alignment. They had clearly been fastened in a hurry. Couldn’t he see how his collar was skewed?
Pride was one of Avaston’s greatest sins. It normally showed in his meticulous appearance so brightly that vicars could have used him as an example in sermons. The man was no less dangerous. If anything, he was more volatile, a cornered beast ready to strike.
Tugging and pulling, I tested my bonds. It was no use. The sheet was twisted into dense rope, looped through my arms and chest, and I couldn’t reach the knots. I was left at Avaston and Vivian’s mercy. A word I imagined didn’t exist in their vocabulary. What a horrible thought—these two held my life in their hands.
It took every ounce of strength I had not to scream, my eyes burning as the panic threatened to flare. I wanted to break down and give in to despair, knowing how meager my chances were of living past this encounter. But I’d survived brandings, beatings, and my father’s machinations. I would survive this too.
Maybe.
While I floundered, Vivian petted Avaston, smoothing his hair. She cooed to him, as one would talk to a wild animal hoping to keep it from attacking at random and killing all present. “We’re going to be very happy together once all this is done, baby.”
Something was off to me. Avaston was unbalanced. Disheveled in appearance and demeanor, and Vivian continued to talk as an incestuous mother to a child. Doll-like makeup only heightened the unseemly juxtaposition between them. I understood her grievance, but to take it to this extreme? Why would he allow her to direct him? Avaston was the boss, not the follower. Did he not realize what was happening?
My anger blended with my fear into a torch I threw Vivian’s way. “I’m not surprised you’re involved. You’ve always hated me.”
“I hated you from the day Rother brought you home.” Vivian turned to me, ignoring Avaston and allowing him to continue his restless movements.
I scoffed. “Somehow I think it was more like the day he left to collect me.”
“It’s all the same.”
“You know that even if I’m dead, Rother may bed you down, but he’ll never love you back no matter how much you beg him.”
Avaston stilled, his manic vision whirling to Vivian.
“Be quiet.” Vivian swooped in and cracked her open hand across my face. “That’s for slapping me.”
“You deserved it.” I caught Avaston’s eye. “She set me up so I’d walk in on Rother and his new recruit proving his oral skills and hopefully end my marriage. Why would she care, I wonder?”
Avaston inched closer, as if my words had merit. The final confession of the damned. Vivian glared at me yet didn’t interrupt. I could taste her venom and the secrets she strove to hide.
The gossiping noble came forth with all its subtle poison. “Was it Vivian’s idea to come into the den of yo
ur enemy? That doesn’t sound like the smartest move. Why not send one of your men?”
“Of course it was my idea. The law’s raiding my businesses. Worthingfield’s arresting my guys. Had to do it tonight. Looking forward to it. May not have another chance to put you down and make Rother sorry.”
There it was. Worthingfield and the new Chief Magistrate had struck. Avaston’s network of spies and thugs was being dismantled. Rother tried to undermine his business, and Avaston parried his play and returned the favor. Now, for reasons apart from their feud, Avaston’s world was collapsing around him. Coming here was bad strategy under the circumstances. A man like Avaston should know this, but he wasn’t himself.
He was lost, broken, and malleable. And there was Vivian, never one to miss an opportunity.
Avaston teetered. Could I nudge him over, and if so, which side would he fall upon?
As much as I despised the Deilian nobility, their cunning had its uses. With little role in society save the prize in a winning marriage, a lady’s power resided in her skill at persuasion. I prayed I’d learned well. Debutantes were rarely playing this game under duress.
The trick of course would be to not anger Avaston into killing me.
My body ached and my bonds pinched my flesh, keeping my distress real as I put Vivian on the spot.
“Before we fired you, why did you ask Rother for more money?”
“I was testing him.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I squinted at her as if seeing the truth for the first time. “You were seeing if you could weasel your way back into his graces and make a profit. You knew he was in trouble.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Avaston hung on every word. His confidence must have had the integrity of crumbling sand. So I fed another razor into Vivian’s story. “You always wanted Rother, and through him Delaga House. What happened? When Rother married me, did you realize you couldn’t have any of it?”
Innocence and Carnality Page 35