“We leave in the morning then?” Mortimer asked, shoveling food into his mouth.
Barrett eyed him with undisguised disgust. “Yes,” he replied. Mortimer’s appetite had quite deterred his. “Felix and Maurice will return soon from informing the buyer of Rochester’s proclamation.”
“You should have gone yourself,” Mortimer commented, his mouth full, chewing. “Those two fools will have made a right hack of everything.”
Barrett ignored him. “They left yesterday. What could be taking them so long? They should have been back hours ago.”
“They’re probably drinking in some tavern.” Mortimer snickered. “You won’t let them drink here, so they take their pleasure when they can.”
“Even if they did stop for a quick pint,” Barrett snapped, “they still should have been back here by now. You don’t suppose they took matters into their own hands and went after Rochester, do you?”
Mortimer shrugged, uncaring. “If they did, they’re dead men.”
Uneasy, Barrett looked around at the sullen camp, his employees shooting him looks of loathing and contempt. He had long ago grown a thick skin against the hatred he inspired, and their angry glances bounced off him without harm.
Still, he was alone here with people who despised him, enemies without number, and no bodyguards. He always kept bodyguards, and never went anywhere without them. Now, with Felix and Maurice gone, he felt vulnerable as though he stood in the center of his people with no clothes on. He swallowed his brandy in a gulp, and poured more into his glass with a hand that shook.
“Looking to get drunk, are you?” Mortimer observed, drinking more discreetly of his wine.
“Where are they?” Barrett muttered, still looking around at the odd camp, the fires, his people who should have loved him but did not.
“What are you afraid of?”
Scowling, Barrett glared at Mortimer. “I am afraid of nothing, imp.”
Giggling, Mortimer pointed his finger at him. “Not true. You are deathly afraid of Rochester.”
“A man would be a fool to not be afraid of that one,” Barrett muttered, gulping more brandy.
“I suppose you might be right on that score,” Mortimer agreed. “He was right impressive yesterday.”
“With luck, Cornelia’s buyer will take a lesson and steer clear of him, also. But, that is no longer our concern. In two days, we will be in Scotland, and free of them both.”
Mortimer eyed him slyly. “You think he cannot follow you into the Highlands? If that man wants your hide as a cloak, the border will not stop him.”
“Cease your prattling,” Barrett barked. “Ah, there they are. At last.”
Their cudgels thrust through their belts, Felix and Maurice ambled into the camp, their expressions coldly blank. As they passed among the circus people, those folks turned their faces away from the pair of them, yet watched from the corners of their eyes. Mortimer got up from the table, and stepped away, his face tight. Watching him, baffled for a moment, Barrett then waved him away with contempt.
Barrett beckoned to his bodyguards unnecessarily, feeling much more at ease since they arrived. That his people seemed to sense something different about them, he cared not one jot. All that mattered was that he was safe again. Once he was north of the border, he could begin his show again, free of debt, of Rochester and of this very frightening buyer.
“Gentlemen,” Barrett said expansively. “Welcome back. Have you eaten?”
Maurice nodded without speaking while Felix stared at him sullenly. “Come,” Barrett said, gesturing to the chair Mortimer vacated. “Tell me what the gentleman said.”
Walking slowly around the table, Felix sat down, his dead seeming eyes on Barrett. Unease filled him again despite his confidence in his bodyguards’ ability to protect him. Maurice moved up to stand directly behind him, a spot he usually took. Yet, Barrett did not like him there. He suddenly wanted him where he could see him. Beyond Felix, Mortimer’s expression had taken on a haunted, desperate look.
Turning his head slightly, Barrett observed how few people remained at the fires, still eating or drinking. Little by little, those remaining slipped away, vanishing into growing darkness. “Where the hell did everyone go?” he muttered sourly. “Like rats deserting a sinking ship. So, Felix, what did he say?”
Felix drew his cudgel from his belt. Fingering it, he said, “That we’re to kill you.”
“What?” Barrett half laughed. “What is this? A joke?”
“No. No joke. We work for him now.”
His smile fading from his face, Barrett stared at Felix, not comprehending. “But you work for me.”
“Not anymore. He pays better.”
Something hard slammed across Barrett’s shoulders, knocking him face first into the table and forced it to crash under his weight. Falling, unable to stop himself, he tried to fling his hand out to catch himself, but found nothing. Searing pain lanced across his shoulders as he floundered in the mess of food, broken crockery, glass and brandy.
“What?” he gasped. “No. No. You mustn’t.”
Above him, Felix and Maurice stood with their staves in their hands, their face without mercy. “We must. We have our orders.”
“No,” Barrett half screamed. “No.”
Barrett’s eyes caught a rapid there and gone glimpse of the owl high overhead before Felix and Maurice closed in on him.
Barret began to scream.
Chapter 30
Cornelia woke to the sounds of yelling and the pounding of a fist on her door. Clear eyed and clear headed in an instant, she thrust her arms into the sleeves of her robe and dashed to the door. Throwing it open, she stared at the wild, half dressed form of Archie. She had no time to ask the obvious question before he seized her by the hand and dragged her down the hallway toward the stairs.
Mr. Hamden, on duty at her door, followed, his expression as confused at Cornelia’s. “Archie, what’s wrong?” she asked, running to keep up with his long strides.
“Something has happened,” he snapped, “you have to come. She’s half out of her mind. She won’t talk to anyone but you.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea. Latham’s mercenaries caught her on her way here. She was screaming, crying, hysterical, so they brought her in. Latham has her in the library trying to calm her down with brandy.”
Several servants, also in their night dress, had emerged from the servants’ wing at the noise, staring, asking one another whispered questions. “Go back to your rooms,” Archie ordered as he passed them. “Go on, nothing to see now.”
They obeyed him, but Norris Saxon emerged, limping from his chamber and refused the order to go back to bed. “I might be able to help, m’lord,” he said, leaning on a walking stick as he, too, followed.
Her heart in her throat, Cornelia tried to envision what had happened and who had arrived in the middle of the night crying and hysterical. Hustled along by Archie, she had little time to ponder it before he threw open the door to the library and hauled her inside.
Peggy, her face swollen from weeping, stood up from her chair and rushed into Cornelia’s arms. “Oh, my God,” she screamed, “they killed him, oh, God they beat him to death. Cornelia, he’s dead.”
Holding her best friend close as she sobbed and wailed, Cornelia crooned in her ear, feeling her body shiver uncontrollably, knowing they could not get her story from her until she had calmed down. Behind Peggy’s back, she signed with her fingers for Archie and the others to give her time to soothe Peggy. Archie nodded, and poured more brandy.
“It is all right, Peggy,” Cornelia murmured. “You are safe now. Just breathe, honey, just breathe. No more crying, just breathe. Breathe.”
It took many long minutes of soothing words and massaging some of the tension from Peggy’s back and shoulders before the woman’s sobbing finally trailed off. “You tell us when you are ready, Peggy, not a moment before, all right? You are among friends. His Lordship won’t let anything happe
n to you.”
“Cornelia,” Peggy wailed against her cheek. “They killed him.”
“Hush now, just hush. Calm down first. Come. Are you all right to sit down? I will be right here with you, holding your hand.”
Peggy nodded, released Cornelia, and stumbled, fumbling her way to a chair, to sit. Latham handed her his kerchief as Cornelia took the glass of brandy. Waiting, patient, until Peggy had wiped her face and taken a deep breath, Cornelia finally handed her the glass. Sitting beside her friend, she held her free hand tightly.
“Drink it,” she ordered quietly. “It will calm your shakes.”
Obedient, Peggy drank half down, then drew a long shuddering breath. “I think I’m all right now. Cornelia, they killed him.” She started weeping again, her hysteria rising.
“Peggy, stay calm and talk to us. Who did they kill?”
“Barrett.”
Cornelia drew in a sharp breath, and glanced at Archie. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “This is not good.”
“No, it’s not.” Peggy wept quietly, tears streaming down her face. She gulped the rest of the brandy, the kerchief clutched in the same hand that held the glass.
“Peggy, I’m Lord Rochester,” Archie said quietly, squatting by Peggy’s chair. “I promise you, you are safe here. No one will harm you. Please. Tell us what happened.”
Drawing in yet another deep breath, Peggy nodded. “Y – Your Lordship. Barrett had sent Felix and Maurice, you know, his henchmen.”
“Yes, I know of them.”
“He sent them to the man who bought Cornelia,” Peggy went on, her breath coming faster as Cornelia judged that yet another panic attack crept up within her friend. “To tell him of what you said. They came back. They told Barrett they work for him now, and that they were ordered to kill him. Oh, God, they beat him. They beat him to death.”
Peggy collapsed into Cornelia’s arms, sobbing, incoherent once again. “None of us stopped it,” she wailed. “None tried to stop it. Oh, God, Cornelia, he screamed and screamed.”
Holding her tight, Cornelia murmured, “Hush now, hush, honey, it is all over now. There is nothing you could have done.”
“We could have stopped it,” Peggy shrieked. “We could have stopped it.”
“No, honey, you would have gotten killed, too. Hush, now. You know they would have turned on you. You would be dead as well as any others who tried to save Barrett. You know Felix and Maurice. They are killers. Stop this now, you are going to harm yourself. Please. Calm down.”
Once again, Peggy wept herself out on Cornelia’s shoulder, and finally subsided as Cornelia’s soothing words and hands did their work. When at last she straightened, wiping her swollen, damp face again, she drank the brandy Latham held out to her. Her hysterics now under control at last, Peggy nodded.
“I think I’m all right now,” she murmured.
“After they beat him,” Cornelia said, holding her hand again, “what did you do?”
“I ran. You were all I could think of, Cornelia,” Peggy answered slowly. “I ran through the dark, afraid that they were after me, too. I think everyone bolted. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. When I got close to this house, some men leaped out of the dark and grabbed me.”
“They were hired to protect the people here,” Archie told her. “I hope they didn’t harm you.”
“No, My Lord. Just frightened me.”
“How did you know Cornelia was here, Miss Wood?” he asked.
“Well, Barrett didn’t keep it a secret that Cornelia was here, My Lord,” she replied slowly, “though I’m not sure everyone at the circus heard him talking. I did, however.”
“Remember, you’re safe here,” Archie told her with a smile. “Cornelia will look after you. But tell me, if you can. Did Felix and Maurice say anything else? Anything that might be important? Who this man is?”
Peggy shook her head. “No. Barrett asked them what ‘the gentleman’ said, then Felix said, ‘He ordered us to kill you’.”
“Then they killed him?”
Peggy nodded, her eyes huge. “He thought it was a joke. Then Maurice hit him. We knew the minute they came back that something was wrong. I think we all sensed it. Mortimer did, I know, because I saw his face. He knew what they would do, and he stood back and watched.”
“That slimy little weasel,” Latham muttered. “What I’d like to do to him.”
Cornelia hugged Peggy. “I am so glad you came here. If I had learned what had happened, and could not find you, I do not know what I would have done.”
“What will I do, Cornelia?” Peggy asked, clinging to her hand. “I have nothing without the circus. With Barrett gone –”
“Stop worrying,” Cornelia said quickly, her tone firm. “I’m sure Archie can find a place for you here.”
“Archie?”
Recognizing her slip, Cornelia merely smiled, exchanging a quick look with Archie, then stood up. “I will explain everything in time. Come back to my rooms with me. You need some sleep.”
At Archie’s nod, Cornelia led Peggy out of the library and down the hallway. “You called him Archie,” Peggy said, glancing at the now closed door behind them.
“Yes, I did.”
As they climbed the stairs toward Cornelia’s rooms, Peggy shot a look back, finding Mr. Hamden following them. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Cornelia, why is that footman following us?”
* * *
“It would appear that our enemy found his new henchmen,” Latham commented dryly, handing Archie a glass of brandy and pouring one for Norris as well as himself.
“And now Barrett is no longer a part of anything.” Archie sat in a chair, blowing out a gust of breath. “I never saw that coming.”
“How could you? It would appear our enemy is more ruthless than we imagined.” Latham paced in short circles. “So, what does this news change for us?”
“We have only one enemy now, not two,” Norris replied. “We don’t have to be concerned with Barrett outflanking us.”
“It also means we now know to what lengths he will go to, to have Cornelia back,” Archie stated firmly. He drank his brandy. “My friends, we are in more danger than ever.”
“I disagree.” Latham sipped from his glass, his head down, thinking. “We now know just how ruthless he is, yes? We know he has lads to help him. He still has to get within these walls and he cannot. What does that leave us with?”
“Well, I can’t take the fight to an enemy I can’t see,” Archie said dryly. “As much as I’d like to. I can’t say I liked Barrett Hill, but to die like that? That is going too far.”
“The man’s death may serve to bring this gentleman out into the open,” Norris commented. “He will have to make his move and soon.”
“I expect we hold an advantage,” Archie observed, staring into the cold hearth. “We have the higher ground, we’re making him come to us. I do believe we outnumber him.”
“Yes, we have several advantages,” Latham agreed, finally sitting down. “But so does he. He knows us very well while we know absolutely nothing about him.’
“We do,” Norris replied. “He’s a coward and fights from the shadows. He preys on women and fat men. He won’t get his hands dirty by doing his deeds for himself, and employs ruthless thugs to do it for him. And that, m’lord, is how we will defeat him.”
Archie chuckled and lifted his glass toward Norris. “You are quite right, my friend. So we draw him out into the open. How?”
“With the right bait,” Latham replied. “Miss Hill.”
Archie froze with his brandy halfway to his mouth. “Absolutely not. I will not put her at risk.”
“Perhaps you won’t have to,” Latham replied with a grin. “What if we were to put one of the smaller grooms in a wig and powder his face? Parade him out in the evening. Then when they try to abduct him, we strike.”
Taking a sip of his drink, Archie shook his head. “If this fellow does what we expect, we will catch his henchmen and not him.”
“We know what Felix and Maurice look like,” Norris offered. “Perhaps follow them back to their new employer.”
“Possible, if they travel to him,” Archie replied. “I imagine Barrett Hill’s circus people will disperse across the land, so Felix and Maurice are now in the open. We have an eyewitness account that they murdered a man. Perhaps we should have the constables go arrest them.”
Latham shook his head. “Those poor blokes haven’t a chance against those two. They’ll be killed straight away.”
The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 27