Jack shook his head. “They can go. I’m supposed to take you back to your room.”
Matilda returned a scathing look.
“No,” she replied succinctly, pleased to discover Pippin at her side, looking equally determined. “Perhaps you should take Phoebe up to her room, though,” Matilda added, feeling wretched at the fury in the little girl’s eyes.
“No!” Phoebe said, folding her arms. “I hid when Mr Burton came, I won’t hide again. I’ll be safe with all of you. Jack will look after me, won’t you, Jack?”
The big man sighed and nodded. “Reckon it’s more than my life’s worth if I don’t, princess.”
“There, see?” she said, her wide, grey-blue eyes hopeful.
“She knows what manner of man her great-uncle is,” Pippin said, taking Phoebe’s hand. “I think she ought to come, if this big lummox swears to look after her.”
“I’ll look after all three of you,” Jack said, puffing out his chest a little.
Pippin gave a huff, which suggested she’d like to see him try to protect her, before striding for the door.
“I’ve a few words for Theodore Barrington myself,” she muttered. “Once his lordship has said his part.”
“Save some for me,” Dharani chimed in, gaining a measuring look from Pippin, who studied the tiny Indian woman with interest. “I cannot stand a bully.”
“Nor I,” Pippin replied, giving an approving nod. “Especially ones as would hurt a child.”
“Ah, a kindred spirit. We shall right some wrongs, shall we not?”
Dharani’s dark eyes flashed with anticipation and Pippin smiled in return, something like recognition flaring in her expression. All the hairs on the back of Matilda’s neck stood on end. Pippin offered Dharani her arm, and the old lady took it.
“You heard of me?”
Dharani nodded. “We spent some time in Sussex when Aashini was a child. I heard whispers, rumours of the wise woman of Dern Palace.”
Pippin’s lips twitched. “And that interested you.”
Dharani grinned.
“Come along, everyone,” Matilda said, hustling them out, having no time to analyse the strange prickling sensation tripping down her spine as they hurried to the stairs that led to the upper floors of the assembly rooms.
Chapter 20
Dearest Harriet,
I hope this letter arrives before I do, but I know you will forgive me if it does not, for I am hoping we might impose upon your hospitality. Luke and I have been in Stratford-upon-Avon, staying with his mother who was taken ill. The miserable old cow has recovered now, and is just as awful as ever, mores the pity.
This wretched castle seems to be cut off from the world at large, but I have this morning heard of all the horrid gossip about Montagu and poor Matilda. I don’t know what on earth we can do to help, but we are coming at once.
―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Kitty Baxter to Harriet Cadogan, Countess of St Clair.
9th May 1815, The Old Bath Hotel, Matlock Bath, Derbyshire.
Lucian bided his time for some moments after he heard his uncle enter the grand assembly room. He was just a man; he reminded himself, an increasingly elderly one at that. He was not, in truth, the monster that had stalked his dreams as a boy, as monstrous as his actions had been over the years. He was the man who had turned Lucian’s life into a game of survival, a living nightmare where nothing was as it seemed, but he was flesh and blood, just an old man, and this time Lucian would not be so merciful. He would not murder the man in cold blood, for he was not cut from the same cloth, but Theodore would lose any illusion of freedom. Lucian would keep him a prisoner in the comfortable home he’d given him, and closely watched, and heaven help anyone who thought to betray Lucian’s trust again. Theodore would die alone and unremarked, and Lucian would not have to think of him again.
He drew in a deep breath and opened the door, stepping through. His uncle was standing by a table where two large candelabra had been set, their golden light spilling around them, but not touching more than a fraction of the grand room.
“Good evening, Uncle.”
Theodore spun around, and for a moment Lucian experienced the satisfaction of having shocked him. His eyes grew wide, the colour leaving his cheeks, and then he roared with laughter and clapped his hands together, the sound echoing about the grand hall.
“Touché! Well played, my boy, well played. Damn me, but I really thought I’d won that time. Ah well, the game continues, I see.”
“No,” Lucian replied. “I have no patience left with this game, and you have no cards left to play. And so you will leave.”
“Ah, but I do, or did you want the world to have proof that the lovely Miss Hunt is your whore?”
Lucian stamped down the impulse to react with difficulty, knowing it was what his uncle wished for.
“You will keep your filthy mouth from ever speaking her name again, Uncle, or I shall make it so you cannot speak at all.”
He spoke calmly, aware that that his threats were more potent when there was no emotion underlying them.
“No,” his uncle’s voice was hard, angry now. “You are not the only one who tires of this game. You are in my way, Lucian, just as your father was in my way. I am tired of waiting around. I am growing older, and one way or another I will have that bloody title, the money, and all the things you, your father, and your brothers stole from me.”
Lucian stiffened as his uncle pulled a pistol from inside his coat. Despite his words to Matilda, he’d known there was a risk that Theodore was mad enough to act out of impatience and anger. He would not get away with it, but that was small comfort.
“You will hang if you kill me now. There are witnesses, people who know you are here tonight. You will be the marquess as you desire so badly, but only until the day you die, which will be sooner than I believe you are hoping for.”
“I don’t think so,” his uncle replied, smiling, his expression so gentle and sad that Lucian’s stomach turned. “They’ve never come for me before, after all.”
Lucian paused, an unpleasant sensation climbing up his spine. “What do you mean by that?”
Theodore grinned at him, and there was the flash of evil that Lucian had always known was there, but no one else had ever believed in. Only Pippin, and eventually Denton and Mrs Frant. He studied his uncle now, noting that his clothes were crumpled, and he’d not shaved. He looked ill, in fact, his face lined with strain, his colour high.
“I admit, I did not think it would work quite so admirably,” Theodore said. “I mean, I only hoped to rid myself of your father. I never dreamed to remove two from the succession in one fell swoop. Though I always regretted that your mother died too. Such a beautiful creature, she was. I had hopes of taking her on myself.”
Lucian’s heart crashed about in his chest, and he fought to keep his breathing even.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, refusing to believe it. Theodore was just a man, an evil man, not a monster of those proportions. Not like in his dreams. “No. It was an accident, a terrible accident.”
“Of course it was an accident,” his uncle replied, his tone soothing, like Lucian was a boy again. “I just… helped it along a little, is all.”
“No,” Lucian said.
His uncle smiled, removing a fleck of lint from his crumpled coat sleeve as if he were dressed in his finery for a grand ball. “Your father never took the least notice of his staff, did he? They were nothing more than insects, scurrying little insects, ants that did his bidding. I’m not like that, though. I noticed. I notice everything.”
Lucian’s chest was tight, a sensation like ice water trickling through his veins. Matilda had once said he had ice in his veins, had she not?
“I noticed that his driver liked a drop of brandy more than he ought,” Theodore continued, smiling. “And so I gave him a little gift. A fine bottle it was, though dosed with opium, I’m afraid. And do you remember that evening, the evening your father and mother and broth
er went out to dine with friends, all dressed up in their finery?”
Lucian nodded, unable to speak. He remembered. He remembered every moment in terrible detail. His mother dressed up, jewels sparkling, impossibly beautiful, and him and Thomas standing on the steps, waving them off. He had spent far too much of his childhood wondering what had happened that night, how he might have stopped it, how he might have at least saved Philip from going out to that blasted dinner. He hadn’t wanted to go; he only had because Father had insisted.
“Do you remember your little brother, Thomas, that night?” Theodore continued, a sad, singsong note to his voice that nauseated Lucian.
It made him want to stop the vile story before he could hear any more, and made him want to put his hands about his uncle’s throat and just… squeeze.
“He always loved to give the horses a sugar lump. Do you remember, Lucian?”
Lucian didn’t answer, a sickening cold sensation swirling in his guts. He didn’t want to hear this.
“You should have seen Thomas’ face when I finally told him he’d poisoned his father’s horses. I told him that a week or so before he died, I believe. He was rather upset to discover that he was responsible for all those senseless deaths, because… I wasn’t even there, was I?”
“No,” Lucian said again, denying it, shaking his head even as he felt the truth in the dreadful words, even as the ground was shifting beneath him, like the tide dragging the sand from under his feet. “Oh, God. You did it….”
“I did,” Theodore replied amicably. “Not that you can prove it. It was someone else who put the bottle of brandy in the driver’s hand, someone else who gave little Thomas the sugar lumps, but I was the spider spinning his web, guiding all the little insects that your father took no notice of until I caught the big juicy fly I wanted. Three flies, as it turned out.”
“You killed my family.”
“Yes,” Theodore said, all trace of that cordial old man gone now, his face hard and implacable. “And now, I shall kill you. You’ve caused a great deal of trouble, Lucian. I never knew a boy who was so hard to put an end to. Thomas was so much easier to destroy, but you… it was like there was some golden charm protecting you.”
“That’s because there was.”
Theo spun around, though he kept the pistol pointed at Lucian.
“Pippin,” Lucian said in alarm, fighting through the shock of everything he’d just learned. “For the love of God, get out of here!”
“No, my lamb. I told you there needed to be a reckoning, and it’s about time.”
“Oh, it’s time,” said a cheerful voice with a heavy foreign accent from above.
Lucian looked up to see the curtains on the balcony had been drawn back and all of Matilda’s uninvited guests were there, including Lady Cavendish’s grandmother, who seemed to be the source of the comment and was looking down at them as if she was watching a fascinating theatre production.
“I think you had best put the gun down, Mr Barrington,” said the commanding voice of the Duke of Bedwin. “We have all heard your confession. There is nowhere to run.”
As he spoke, Jack’s men appeared by the doors at either end of the assembly room, pistols glinting in the dim light from the candles. Lucian raised his hand, telling them silently to wait, not to shoot unless there was no other choice.
He saw the implacable look in his uncle’s eyes and knew what he meant to do. If Theodore would die, either here or on the scaffold for murder, he may as well take Lucian with him.
“Put down the gun, Mr Barrington,” Pippin said, her voice and her presence startlingly impressive for a cook.
Lucian smiled at her, remembering all the times she had looked out for him, all the small kindnesses and the hugs he had needed so badly after his parents and Philip had died… had been murdered.
“Go away, Pippin,” he said softly. “I don’t want you hurt.”
Pippin snorted. “He can’t hurt me, the old fool. He’s not nearly clever enough for that.”
“Matilda!” shouted a male voice from above.
“Lucian!”
Lucian turned once again, looking behind him this time as Matilda flew through the door, running towards him while her brother roared with helpless terror from the balcony.
Bloody hell!
“Jack, you useless bastard,” Lucian shouted in fury.
“I didn’t see her go,” Jack called down.
He had a tight hold on Phoebe, however, thank God.
“Get Phoebe out of here!” Lucian shouted, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Good God, he’d not have Phoebe see him killed before her eyes.
“Aye, lord.”
“No!” Phoebe screamed, kicking and biting and thrashing madly in the big man’s grip. “No, I won’t go!”
“Lucian!”
“Damn you, Matilda,” he cursed as she flung herself at him. “What the devil are you thinking?”
“She’s protecting you, Lucian, because she loves you,” Pippin said, smiling. “Like her friends have come to protect her.”
“Hell and the devil, you’re all mad,” he exclaimed, pushing Matilda behind him.
A low chuckle echoed around the dimly lit space. He looked up again and saw Aashini taking her grandmother’s hand and the woman gesturing for Helena to take the other. Pippin stared up at her and the old woman nodded. The hairs on the back of Lucian’s neck prickled.
He turned back to his uncle.
“You murdered my family. It was all you, and now they all know it. I would have let you live, but you’ll hang now. Whatever happens.”
“Ah, well,” Theodore said with a shrug. “I’ll be the marquess for the duration of the trial. The Mad Marquess has quite a ring about it, doesn’t it, my boy?” He grinned, an expression that made Lucian’s skin crawl. “My word, how your father would have despised the scandal, not to mention the end of our illustrious line. That’s why he hated me. You know, that don’t you? Because our mother was a whore. She’d gotten her heir and forgot to secure a spare before she leapt into another man’s bed. Our father never said a word, naturally, didn’t want a scandal, but they all treated me like I was diseased, a rotten limb that ought to have been cut off, so I cut them off instead.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucian said, thinking only that he ought to keep him talking. “I had no idea.”
“Or what?” his uncle sneered. “You’d have been different? You’d have treated me with respect?”
“Yes,” Lucian said, realising that the one thing he’d always feared was not the case. His uncle did not know about Phoebe. “I would have. We loved you, Theodore. Thomas and I loved you. That would never have changed, no matter what.”
“Liar.”
“No,” Lucian said, shaking his head. “Upon my honour.”
His uncle’s face whitened, though high colour remained on his cheekbones. He looked ill, but his lips thinned into a taut line, his grip on the pistol firming. “What’s done is done.”
“No!” Matilda cried, her arms wrapping about Lucian’s chest, over his heart, trying to protect him. “No, don’t hurt him.”
Lucian tugged her hands away and watched Theodore raise the pistol higher, only relieved that Phoebe and Matilda would be safe. If he died now, his uncle would hang, and Phoebe and Matilda would make a new life for themselves. He would die knowing what it was to love and be loved, and that was more than he’d ever hoped for. Matilda clutched at him, trying to protect him even now, but he held her firmly behind his back, feeling her trembling against him.
“Yes, Theo, what is done is done, and it cannot be undone,” he said, his heart thudding too fast. “But you could stop now, before you make it worse.”
Theodore shook his head, a febrile glint in his eyes. “No, it’s too late.”
“It is,” Pippin agreed, something in her voice that made Lucian uneasy. “Far too late.”
He glared at her, wondering now if she was trying to get him killed.
“Pippin,” he said,
pushing Matilda back again as she struggled to move out from behind him.
“Too late!” called Aashini’s grandmother, her words echoing Pippin’s, eerie somehow.
His uncle was sweating now, breathing hard as he looked between the two woman, alarmed. “What the devil are they on about?”
Lucian stared at them too, just as unnerved as his uncle at the certainty in the women’s voices.
“Pippin?” he said, and Pippin just smiled at him, calm and reassuring.
“I told you she looks after you.”
“Pippin,” he warned, angry with her. “Don’t be foolish, not now.”
He jolted as Matilda gave a soft laugh, something like relief in her words. “Pippin is a wise woman.”
A strange prickling sensation crackled down Lucian’s spine, even though he knew it was all nonsense. Matilda spoke again, her voice louder this time, surer.
“One of her ancestors was hanged for a witch. Did you not know that, Mr Barrington?”
“Matilda, shut up, love,” Lucian muttered, wishing these blasted women would get themselves to safety, but he saw something that looked very much like fear in his uncle’s eyes, and wondered at it.
“You got it, didn’t you?” Pippin said, a confident note in those words, such a hard edge to them that Lucian felt a little daunted himself. “All those years ago. I knew you did. I warned you not to come back again, didn’t I? I told you what the price would be.”
“Nonsense,” Theodore said, though a hunted look flashed in his eyes.
“Got what?” Lucian asked, looking between Pippin and his uncle, who was tugging at his cravat.
“Shut up, boy!” Theodore shouted, struggling to raise the pistol again as his hand trembled.
He pulled the cravat from his throat and wiped his face with it. Lucian tugged Matilda behind him as she tried to break free once more.
“I told you, sooner or later,” Pippin said, sounding incredibly smug. “Time’s up. That old heart of yours is giving in, like I said it would. Only a few beats left now.”
Theo staggered and clutched at the arm that held the pistol, a cry of pain leaving his throat. The gun went off, the report echoing around the vast room as screams rent the air, but the bullet had buried itself in the polished wood floor, and the pistol clattered to the ground as Theodore fell to his knees.
To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11) Page 23