by Alyssa Drake
Daphne abandoned her search. Limping toward the rear of the house, she heard Miss Randall scramble to her feet. Run, Daphne! She pushed herself faster, swallowing the screams that accompanied the agonizing pain blazing up her leg.
“I do not need a gun to kill you,” snarled Miss Randall. She flew down the pathway, her shoes pounding a rhythm of rage as she scattered pebbles in her desperation to reach Daphne.
Just as Daphne turned the corner, Miss Randall hit her from behind. Daphne crumpled, her body refusing to cooperate. Snickering, Miss Randall dove on top of her, pinning Daphne to the ground and pressed her face into the dirt, grinding it against the pathway. Releasing Daphne’s head, she tucked a loose strand of Daphne’s hair behind her ear, leaning all her weight on Daphne’s back.
“I should let Robert have you,” whispered Miss Randall, her mouth brushing over Daphne’s ear. A shudder ripped through Daphne. “As punishment for all the trouble you caused me this evening. His tastes can be a bit violent, but I am certain you could withstand his carnal attack… at least, the first time.” She laughed coldly, digging her arm into Daphne’s spine as she sat back on Daphne’s legs. “Would you like that?”
“No,” murmured Daphne, her mouth full of dirt.
“Pardon? I did not hear you.” Miss Randall laced her fingers through Daphne’s hair, yanking upward. Daphne cried out, her body bending unnaturally.
“No!” screamed Daphne, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the dirt and blood, leaving streaks on her skin.
“I am giving you a chance at life, Miss Clemens. You have nothing to do with the grievance between my family and the Hastings. There is no need to sacrifice your life for a dead man. Consider my offer… either I kill you, or I give you to Robert.”
“I am frightened of Mr. Shirely.”
“As you should be.” Miss Randall crawled off Daphne, crouching beside her on the pathway. Lifting Daphne to a sitting position, she stroked her hand over Daphne’s hair. “It only hurts for a few hours afterward. I doubt he’ll be gentle with you as he’s been craving you for some time now.” She smiled, baring her teeth.
“Mr. Shirely knows of your plan?”
“You’re a surprise.” Miss Randall smashed Daphne’s lips together, silencing her protest. “And if you want to keep your life, you will say nothing of my involvement in the death of Mr. Reid… ever. Mr. Reid surprised Miss Larson and Mr. Morris in the gazebo and was fatally injured; he will be a hero. You will return with me to the Shirely’s estate, where you will agree to Robert’s request for marriage, and I expect you to fulfill his needs this evening.”
“I cannot.” Daphne shook her head, her eyes pleading with Miss Randall. “Please, I cannot marry him.”
“Do you expect Mr. Reid to rescue you?” She glanced at the silent gazebo, amusement on her face. “I doubt he will be able to do much in his current state.”
Daphne rolled her shoulders back, jutted out her chin. “I would rather die.”
“Interesting.” Miss Randall shrugged. Standing, she reached down, wrapping her fingers through Daphne’s hair again and jerked, forcing Daphne to scramble awkwardly to her feet. Stumbling, Daphne yanked her head free of Miss Randall’s grasp, leaving strands of chocolate hair wound around Miss Randall’s fingers.
A peculiar sound caught Daphne’s ear. Miss Randall glanced back at the same time. Carriage wheels on the main drive! It must be Mr. Davis with the doctor. Daphne’s mind hesitated between calling for help and running for the kitchen door. If she yelled, Miss Randall would still have ample time to take her life before Mr. Davis reached her, if she ran…
Sliding one foot behind her other, Daphne slowly backed away from Miss Randall, whose attention remained on the approaching carriage. Spinning, Daphne darted toward the rear of the house, hissing each time she jarred her ankle. Just as she reached the corner, she heard Miss Randall yell with frustration. Scuffling sounds chased Daphne around the corner.
Lumbering forward, Daphne tripped over a rock, stumbling toward the kitchen door and crashed into the worn wood. Her hand fumbled with the doorknob, terror bubbling on her lips. She forced her trembling fingers to close around the doorknob and twisted. The door did not budge. It was locked!
“Miss Clemens, I am disappointed in your behavior this evening,” the cold voice reproached from behind her. Daphne spun around, pressing her shoulder blades against the door. Miss Randall stepped from the shadows, her face splitting into an evil grin. “It will be my pleasure to kill you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carriage wheels on the main drive! Thomas’ eyes flew open. His brain, a foggy tangle of pain and hazy memories, focused on the noise. It must be Mr. Davis! His head lolled to the right, the only portion of his body willing to cooperate, the remainder of his limbs refusing to budge. His eyes scanned the dim gazebo. Miss Larson, her glassy eyes locked on his face, was crumpled against the railing, her frail body folded into an unnatural position. Morris, face up in the center of the gazebo, looked as though he were sleeping, his hand folded peacefully over his chest. That was not how he fell…
Someone moved him. Thomas’ mind sifted through snatches of dull conversation. Miss Clemens had been with him. He’d rescued her from Morris, creeping up behind him and stabbing him several times, then someone shot him. Morris’ accomplice…
“Do you love her, Mr. Reid?” The voice whispered in his brain. She had hissed the question in his ear, leaning over him, digging her finger into his wound. The pain had been agony. “Because I am going to kill her.”
Miss Randall! It was her voice echoing in his head. His gaze slid over the gazebo again. Both Miss Randall and Miss Clemens were missing. Was Miss Clemens still alive? What horrors had Miss Randall committed upon her? His chest constricted. He needed to signal the carriage. He pushed up, forcing strength into his arms, and pulled himself forward. Blackness overwhelmed him, and he collapsed, panting. His vision blurred. He’d lost too much blood.
A pair of hands lifted his head from the gazebo floor. “Who did you anger this time, Thomas?”
Edward!
“Randall.” Thomas choked on the word; coughing, droplets of blood scattering across Edward’s shirt.
“Try not to talk.” Edward ignored him, shrugging his coat from his shoulders. Folding it into a ball, Edward slid the material under Thomas’ neck. Peeling aside the collar, Edward inspected the wound. “I need to send for the doctor.”
“Davis,” managed Thomas.
“Send Mr. Davis for the doctor?” asked Edward, removing his vest. He stuffed it between Thomas’ shirt and the gaping hole in Thomas’ shoulder.
Thomas rolled his head slowly, side-to-side, inhaling slowly. “Davis went for a doctor. Benjamin shot.”
“Benjamin was shot! Is he alright? What happened? Where is Samantha? Where are Wilhelmina and the girls?” Edward’s barrage of questions whirled around Thomas.
“Fine,” replied Thomas. Everyone was safe, except for Miss Clemens… Thomas’ eyes bulged. “Miss Clemens…” His voice broke.
“Miss Clemens…” Confusion rippled across Edward’s face, then shock. He fell to the side, collapsing beside Thomas. Above him, Morris stood, his eyes gleaming, the knife flashing in his hand, blood dripping from the blade.
“Mr. Reid.” Morris bared his teeth, bowing. “I must thank you for such a useful weapon.”
“You were dead.”
“Was I?” Morris tilted his head, his eyes sliding over Thomas. “I suspect, in your current weakened state, you neglected to confirm that fact. Never underestimate your enemy, Mr. Reid.”
An explosion of fury flew into Morris’ chest. Edward leapt from the ground, tackling him and knocking him into the railing. The wood cracked, groaning against the force. Morris snarled, slashing the knife through the air. Ducking, Edward popped up, jabbing him in the face. Blood gushed from Morris’ nose, dripping over his lips and chin.
Howling, Morris swung the knife wide, catching Edward in his left arm. Edward
cursed. His fist connected with Morris’ face again. Releasing the knife handle, Morris stumbled sideways, holding the side of his head. With a groan, Edward yanked the knife from his arm.
Morris’ black eyes locked on Edward, a growl emanating from his lips. “I will kill you, Edward.”
“You will never threaten my family again.” Edward held the knife out, his hand tightening around the blade, positioning the knife like a fencing foil. “You and I have a grievance to settle.”
“That we do, my boy.” Snarling, Morris lunged at Edward, shoving him backward. The knife flew out of Edward’s hand, landing centimeters from Thomas’ head. Thomas flinched, his wide eyes stared back at him from the gleaming metal.
Edward’s hands closed around Morris’ neck, squeezing. Morris repeated the action in kind. They spun in a circle, snarling and growling, each refusing to relinquish their hold. With a roar, Morris flung Edward against one of the gazebo pillars, smashing his head into the wood. Edward staggered drunkenly, releasing Morris.
Sneering, Morris spun and dove for the knife, ripping it from the floorboards. He turned around, raising the knife. Thomas flung his arms out, grabbing ahold of Morris’ ankle. Morris tripped, falling hard on his knees. He kicked his leg free, his heel striking Thomas in the forehead.
With Morris distracted, Edward leapt, knocking him over and landing on top of him. Reaching for the knife, Edward pinned Morris to the floor with his knees. Sitting up quickly, Morris butted Edward in the face, smashing his nose. A trickle of blood leaked down Edward’s chin. They grappled for the knife, rolling from one side of the gazebo to the other, crashing into the railing. Morris managed to climb on top of Edward.
Raising up on his knees, Morris drove the knife downward. Edward caught Morris’ arm just before the knife plunged into his chest. Twisting Morris’ wrist, Edward forced Morris’ hand to fold under, thrusting the knife deep into Morris’ stomach, jerking it upward.
Morris gasped, releasing the handle. He glanced down, shock crossing his face. “Edward…”
Reaching up, Edward grabbed the knife, pulling it from Morris’ stomach. He stared at the blade, watching the crimson liquid glisten in the dim moonlight. Wordlessly, he plunged the knife back into Morris’ chest. Shoving him aside, Edward rose. He stood over Morris, arms folded, watching the man shudder and gasp, dragging in his final breaths.
“That was for my father,” snarled Edward. Morris wheezed once and stilled. Kneeling, Edward placed his head against Morris’ chest, listening for a heartbeat. He pulled away, a peculiar expression on his face. Peeling aside Morris’ coat, Edward searched through Morris’ vest pocket, extracting a watch.
Flipping it over, Edward gasped. His eyes sought Thomas. “It’s my father’s watch.”
“How did Morris get it?”
“He told Sammie he’d repair it.” Edward bent, withdrawing the knife from Morris’ chest, then thrusting it deeper. Glancing over at Thomas, Edward straightened, stepping over Morris. “That was for Sammie.”
“You will hear no protest from me,” replied Thomas. The world lurched. Thomas exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
“We need to get you inside.” Edward dropped beside Thomas, lifting him into a sitting position. Thomas groaned, blackness threatening his consciousness. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly. Nodding, he signaled for Edward to stand. They rose together, Thomas leaning heavily on Edward’s shoulder.
“If Franklin shot you, where is the gun?” Edward asked as he half-dragged Thomas across the gazebo.
“Miss Randall shot me. Dear Lord! Miss Clemens!” Thomas’ body flooded with fear. Had she escaped Miss Randall?
“Where did they go?” Edward’s voice pinched.
“I don’t know.” Thomas shook his head, trying to piece together the fuzzy memories. “They were arguing. Suddenly, Miss Clemens vanished. Miss Randall told me she was going to kill Miss Clemens and…” His heart thudded. Had she carried out her threat?
“Once you are inside the house, I will search for Miss Clemens,” said Edward, carefully descending the gazebo steps. “They cannot have gotten far.”
Thomas ground his teeth with each jarring step. “No. We don’t have the time.”
“You can barely walk; you are fortunate to be alive. I—”
Thomas glared him silent. “Miss Randall admitted she murdered Jeremiah Shirely.” The fuzzy memory floated to the surface.
Edward’s jaw dropped.
“And she tortured her aunt.” Thomas’ voice strained with desperation. What would she do to Miss Clemens? “Please, Edward.”
Sighing heavily, Edward nodded. “Which direction would you like to go?”
“Toward the rear of the house,” replied Thomas without hesitation.
“Why not toward the veranda?” asked Edward, turning down the nearest pathway.
“You would have seen them when you exited your carriage.” Thomas’ feet dragged, his breathing labored, harsh in his ears. He forced himself forward. Miss Randall was a killer and Daphne… A sharp pain sliced through his heart. His shoulder throbbing, he doubled over, drawing in a ragged gasp. Shoving away Edward’s worried hands, Thomas took another step, stumbling, his weak legs refusing to match the speed his mind demanded.
Edward hauled him upward. “This is ridiculous. Once we reach the kitchens, I am leaving you there. I can search the estate much faster without having to carry you.”
Thomas muttered his assent, stumbling again. Blood flowed down his arm, seeping through Edward’s vest. They rounded the corner and froze.
Miss Clemens, trapped against the kitchen door, glanced at them, her eyes widening. She pressed her lips together, hiding her relief, forcing her attention back to the pistol aimed at her chest. Miss Randall tilted her head.
“What did you see, Miss Clemens? A ghost, perhaps.” She turned, her face splitting into a massive grin. “Mr. Hastings and Mr. Reid, you are quite resilient. I am surprised by your tenacity. Perhaps I underestimated your stamina.” She smirked, her eyes dragging over his body. “However, I am certain if I cannot kill you, a broken heart surely will.” With a sneer, she twisted her head back to Miss Clemens, gesturing with the gun. “Move over there beside Mr. Reid. I’d like your death to be his last memory of your face.”
Miss Clemens paled, hobbling slowly to Mr. Reid’s side. He wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing them. “Will you marry me?” he murmured out of the side of his mouth.
She gasped, her eyes sliding to him. “Pardon me?”
“Since we may not survive until tomorrow morning, I’d like to ask my final question now.” His mouth curved into a tight smile. “There is no one I would rather spend the rest of my life with, however short that may be. Therefore, will you become my wife?”
“Yes.” Miss Clemens offered him a tiny smile in return.
“It is a pity neither of you will live to see your wedding day.” Miss Randall raised her arm, waving the gun between Edward and Daphne. “Who should I kill first, Mr. Reid? Your fiancée or your friend?”
The kitchen door ripped open, a single blast exploding from inside the house, the bullet striking Miss Randall in the side of her head. She froze, her mouth opened into a wide ‘O.’ Dropping the pistol, she fell to her knees, collapsing on her side. Her body twitched once, then stilled.
Aunt Abigail lowered the rifle, stepping outside, flanked by Mrs. Brown, who was carrying a heavy pan. Aunt Abigail marched over to Miss Randall, staring down at her lifeless body. Poking her with the muzzle of the rifle, her gaze rising to Mrs. Brown. “I always thought there was something unusual about that girl.”
“You tried to match me with her!” Thomas stepped forward, leaning heavily on Edward, who moved with him.
Turning her attention to Thomas, Aunt Abigail studied him, drawing out the silence. “Miss Randall was never my intended fiancée for you… nor was she your mother’s.”
Thomas’ forehead wrinkled. He had overheard his mother and Benjamin talking. If not Miss Randall, with wh
o had they been plotting to bring him together? Whoever the girl, she could not complete with Miss Clemens. His fingers tightened around her hand, pulling her forward.
“It will please you both to know I have selected a fiancée.” He leaned over, murmuring in Miss Clemens’ ear, “That is unless you have changed your mind…”
Miss Clemens lowered her voice. “I have not. However, I will give you the same option to withdraw your proposal as the circumstances have changed.”
“I have no intention of withdrawing my proposal, Miss Clemens. As it were, I am looking forward to seducing my fiancée.” He pressed a soft kiss to her ear.
Trembling, Miss Clemens curled into him. She lifted her hand, trailing it gently down his face, then grinned. “I doubt my guardian will allow me much time alone with you.”
He laughed.
Aunt Abigail watched the exchange through pursed lips, her eyes flicking to Edward. “Took him quite a while.”
Edward shrugged. “Benjamin did say Thomas was stubborn.”
Thomas’ eyes narrowed, his head twisting between Edward and Aunt Abigail. “What have I missed?”
“Miss Clemens was always your intended match, Thomas.”
Thomas’ mouth dropped open. Staring at Aunt Abigail, his mind whirled around her confession. When would she and his mother have had time to develop this scheme? At what point had he given any indication he was interested… Thomas sagged against Edward, blackness creeping into his vision. Miss Clemens screamed, her voice seeming far away as if she was yelling through a tunnel. His fingers constricted, squeezing her hand, and he crumpled.
“He’s been shot.” Miss Clemens’ worried voice floated around him.
“Has Mr. Davis arrived with the doctor?” asked Edward, his tone laced with worry.
“He’s dying.” The words echoed through his mind, ricocheting off his skull. His heart slowed, thumping a sluggish funeral dirge. His last thought was of Miss Clemens.