Gatehaven

by Molly Noble Bull

  Leon listened to the young man’s direction. When he finished, Leon had hoped to ask them to help him back to the inn. He wasn’t feeling as well as he had when he left. But when he turned to make that request, he saw them walking away.

  “Come back! I need your help.”

  They kept walking.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE WIND AND the sound of waves lapping against the shore seemed unusually loud. Perhaps the two young men hadn’t heard his call for help.

  Leon could come to only one conclusion. If he hoped to return to the inn before morning when others would see his distress, he would have to make it back alone.

  Alone.

  Leon had always been there. What a comfort it would be to have someone to lean on—especially now when he was ailing.

  Long ago, after he fell in the well, Rachel had looked down at him, promising to help. But she lied. Instead of throwing him a rope, she told him about Jesus—of all things.

  Leon dug his cane into the sand and took one step. His leg hurt. His chest hurt even more. He took another step.

  Who needs Jesus? Who needs anyone? I can make it to the inn on my own.

  Leon rubbed his left arm, hoping that the aching would go away. He took a deep breath and then another step. If he hoped to hire a carriage that would take him to Henri’s farm, he must somehow make it back to the inn. He couldn’t give up his quest now when he was so close.

  A large log stood in his path—a piece of driftwood, no doubt. Should he go around it? But that would require needless extra steps. He stepped over it. But he didn’t step high enough. He stumbled and fell on the wet ground.

  As he lay there, listening to the sound of the sea and feeling a salty breeze on his face, he heard Rachel’s words again in the valley of his mind.

  “I will pray for you,” she’d said.

  “No,” Leon had shouted back. “Don’t pray for me. Save me!”

  “Your salvation is exactly what I’m hoping for.”

  Salvation. What nonsense.

  Perhaps if he lay there until he was feeling better, his health would improve. Waves lapped against the shore, and he heard the chirping sounds of strange birds overhead.

  There was really no rush. The Aimees probably planned to stay with Henri Aimee for at least another month—perhaps longer. He had plenty of time to do what he planned to do. But his weakened and sickly body told him otherwise. Perhaps it was now or never.

  Leon strained with all his might, forcing crippled muscles to work and forcing Rachel’s words about Jesus to vanish from his mind. He grabbed the log he’d tripped on with one hand and his cane with the other, inching his torso up on the log. The bark’s sharp edges bruised his side. Yet he kept on—dragging his body up and over until the seat of his pants brushed the end of the log. He pushed again and again until his entire body lay on the log.

  If he sat up straight, he would be sitting on it. But if he failed, he could fall back on the wet ground, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to try again.

  Should he pray? Rachel and perhaps Shannon would say that he should.

  “Prayer is a sign of weakness,” his father once said.

  He put his cane directly in front of him and put both hands upon it—one hand over the other. With all of his weight pressing against the wooden cane, it sank deep into the sand. He spread his legs and forced his body forward. His wobbly legs could barely carry the weight, inching further apart. If he didn’t get up at once, his legs would give away. He would fall back on the ground or over the log—perhaps with two broken legs to add to his misery.

  He leaned forward, shifting the weight from his hands to his legs. Suddenly he was standing, but his legs were spreading apart even more. He forced them to come together and it worked. He released another deep breath. Now all he had to do was walk back to the inn as if he was a well man instead of a crippled one.

  Depend on your own strength.

  Was that not what the Spiritualist Society had always said?

  He took a step forward and then another. He wasn’t strolling back to the inn at a brisk pace as a young man might. But he was getting there, and that was all that really mattered.

  A carriage was parked in front of the inn. Its driver sat on top of it. Leon hobbled to the carriage and looked up at the driver.

  “I am in need of a carriage and someone to drive it. May I rent your carriage for the rest of the night and into the morrow?”

  “Yes, sir. For the right price, my carriage is yours for as long as you have need of it.”

  Shannon only pretended to listen as her family gathered in the sitting room, discussing old times back in Scotland. She’d heard all the stories a hundred times or more, and if she heard someone mention Ian’s name one more time, she knew she would burst out crying.

  When nobody was watching, Shannon crept to the entry door and went out. Fresh country air mixed with sea breezes would surely cure her weepy mood.

  Yet her thoughts of Ian continued as she moved toward the beach.

  Ian was a man of God, and she’d once rejected him and his kind of life in favor of money, excitement, and a lavish lifestyle. She’d considered marriage to someone like Ian out of the question—unless she was willing to settle for a rather boring existence as a preacher’s wife.

  Her mother had settled and was gloriously happy, and though her father was a man of little means, she adored him. However, after the Earl of Northon came into her life, settling for what she once called second best was not an option—at least for Shannon.

  Why had she ever thought the earl loved her? Why had she ever thought she loved him?

  Ian was always the only man she could truly trust and depend on. Why had it taken her so long to realize that those qualities were a part of true love? What she would give to go back to the day Ian warned her that the earl was dangerous.

  Shannon shook her head. She mustn’t look back. Her father told her to go forward, and she would.

  Where was the silly girl who dreamed of marrying a prince who lived in a mansion? She felt as if she’d aged twenty years since she stepped in that carriage bound for Gatehaven in the north of England. Despite everything that happened, she’d grown as a person—or maybe it was because of it. Deep inside she wondered. Had she gone through all that happened in England in order to become a better woman?

  She smiled. That sounded like something Peter would say.

  Peter. How good to have Peter as a friend now as well as a brother.

  But Papa.

  Guilt threatened to strangle her. She was reared by good Christian parents. They had loved her and always had her best interest at heart. Yet she had criticized them behind their backs. She’d called Papa a bore, and she hadn’t liked to hear him call her Rachel Shannon instead of merely Shannon. But Rachel Shannon Aimee was her Christian name. The family Bible had confirmed that fact.

  And Mama. She’d had unkind thoughts about her, too, insisting that Mama was an overprotective mother. But all the while, Mama was merely looking out for Shannon’s welfare. They would be her friends now as well as her parents, and Papa could call her Rachel Shannon whenever he wanted.

  Now that she was a true believer, she would make Ian a proper wife—a proper preacher’s wife. But it was too late. Yet she now had the strength to move on.

  Shannon considered every member of her family a friend now. What was most amazing was that God was becoming her best friend.

  She stood at the edge of the water, looking out at waves she could hear better than she could see in the dim light of late evening. She glanced back toward the house.

  The sea was an endless place, and Ian was on the other side of it. Tears that had been welling in her eyes rolled down both cheeks. She would never see him again.

  Ian stood in the shadows, watching Shannon. The wind flattened her dress against her body, making her slender form almost visible by moonlight. Should he go up and speak to her—let his presence be known? It could break the spell. Sh
e could turn him away.

  He scarcely hoped she might change her mind and love him. His jaw firmed. Shannon loved the earl. He sent up a quick prayer all the same.

  “Shannon, it’s me, Ian.”

  Shannon turned. “Ian?” She gazed at him for a long moment, squinting as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “Is it really you?”

  “Aye. May I come and join you?”

  Slowly, the expression of doubt and sheer astonishment so clear in her face melted into a smile filled with promise and tender warmth. “Yes. Oh, yes. Please, come.” She stretched out her arms to him as if she was welcoming home a dear relative.

  He hurried to her side and took her in his arms. It didn’t matter that she could never love him as he loved her. He never wanted to let her go.

  “Oh, Ian, I wanted it to be you. I prayed that you would come, and now you are here.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. Could it be that she changed her mind— that she loved him?

  She wrapped her arms around him and lifted her head as if she expected him to kiss her. “I love you, Ian. I always have. It just took me a while to realize it.”

  “Oh, lass. You cannot know how long I have waited to hear you say those words.”

  “Does this mean that despite everything, you love me, too?”

  “Yes my love, I love you now. And I will love you for the rest of my life.”

  Ian had never kissed her once in all the years he’d known her, but oh, how he wanted to. He lowered his head.

  There were first times for all things—even kissing the one you love. And this was their time, at last.

  Leon’s carriage driver knew exactly where Henri lived. He’d been to his farm several times, delivering guests to and from a Bible class Henri held in his home. The driver was even invited inside once and attended one of the classes.

  As the driver described the interior of the farmhouse, Leon touched the pistol he’d hidden under his coat. Before they saw lights coming from the farmhouse, Leon had a good mental picture of the layout of the two-story home and just how he would break inside.

  “Stop here,” Leon instructed. “Today is Henri’s birthday. I wouldn’t want to spoil my surprise by having you pull to a stop in front of the house. Just park over behind that barn until I return.”

  The driver did as he was told. Leon limped toward the house. He climbed in a back window and crept up the stairs. The driver had told him that Henri’s bedroom was on the first floor. He assumed that his guests would be living above stairs.

  At the head of the stairs he saw three doors. He had no idea which one to go in first. One room probably held Rachel, her husband, and perhaps the baby. The second would be Shannon’s room, and if the grandmother was with them, she was probably sharing a room with Shannon. Peter and his new wife would be in the third room.

  If all Leon wanted to do was kill people, he would go in the first room he saw and start shooting. But he wanted Rachel and Shannon. So he hesitated to open any of the doors. A squeaky latch would ruin everything.

  He felt something furry rub against his leg. Leon gasped. In the light coming from a lamp near a window, he saw a cat push against one of the doors and go in. The door didn’t squeak and wasn’t locked. He followed the cat inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  THE LIGHT IN the room was poor. Two people slept in a large bed. Leon looked around as best he could to see if he could find a crib or another person. He didn’t see anyone. This must be Peter’s room—Peter and his wife.

  It would be easy to kill Peter while he slept. But that was only part of his plan. He tiptoed out into the hall again. Then he sat down in a dark corner to think.

  Leon sucked in his breath as one of the other doors opened. A woman went out and headed for the stairway. He got up and moved forward slowly. Perhaps she planned to go out back to relieve herself. He would grab her before she reached the stairs.

  He crept up behind her and slapped a hand over her mouth. With his other hand, he put the pistol to her head.

  “Do not make a sound or I will kill you. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Now, we are going down those stairs. Be quiet, if you want to live.”

  Was she Rachel or Shannon or Peter’s wife? He still didn’t know.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he heard footsteps on the wooden porch outside.

  “Someone is coming! Do not even breathe.”

  His hand was still over the woman’s mouth as Leon pulled her into a dark sitting room that his driver described as just off the entry. He heard the door open. Then he heard a man and woman talking in whispers.

  He noticed a cord that was used to tie back one of the curtains. He wanted to rip it loose from the window and tie her hands with it. But with one hand over her mouth and the other holding the gun, he didn’t have that option.

  “I hate to wake my parents at this hour, Ian,” the woman said.

  “You must, lass. Leon Picard could be here at any moment.”

  That was Shannon’s voice I heard. So maybe he had Rachel at last. Leon stepped out in the open with the pistol at her head.

  “Mama!” Shannon shouted.

  Leon glared at Ian and Shannon. “Do not go above stairs, Shannon, if you want to see your mother take another breath. You either, Mr.Colquhoun.”

  Shannon turned and faced Leon, standing tall and as straight as an arrow.

  “You would never kill my mother, Monsieur, not until you had your way with her. And I do not think you have—yet.”

  Leon’s lips trembled. He loosened his grip on the gun. Ian kicked it out of his hand. The pistol fell on the floor near the door.

  Ian and Leon scrambled for it. A fight ensued. The two men rolled around on the floor, punching each other. Leon heard sounds—bedroom doors opening above stairs.

  In that instant, Ian grabbed the gun, pointing it at Leon.

  “What is all that noise I hear down there?” Javier Aimee, Shannon’s father, stood at the top of the stairs. “Rachel, are you all right?”

  “I am fine,” she said barely above a whisper.

  “Go upstairs to bed, Rachel” Javier hurried down the stairs. “It’s not safe down there.”

  “I will not,” Rachel declared, still standing alone by the door.

  Henri, in a robe and cap and followed by his wife, rushed out of the downstairs bedroom. “What is all this about?”

  Ian glanced at Henri. Leon knocked the gun out of his hand. The gun tumbled to the floor.

  Shannon grabbed the pistol and pointed it at Leon. “Your quest has ended, Leon Picard. You lost.”

  Ian and Rachel stood beside Shannon. Leon lay on the floor.

  “Did you kill Magdalena Petit?” Ian demanded. “I have to know.”

  Leon hesitated. “Yes, I killed her.”

  Rachel glared down at him. “Why? What did Magdalena ever do to you?”

  “She was a Huguenot. I hate Jews and Huguenots. But that was not my real reason.” Leon covered a cough with his hand.

  “What was it then?” Rachel crouched on the floor and leaned over Leon Picard. “Why did you kill an innocent woman? Why did you kill all those people? Why?”

  “I was searching for you, Rachel. I wanted you. I always have. And you said—” He seemed to be having a hard time breathing. “You once told me that your name was Magdalena Petit. I had to know if you were living under that name.”

  “You killed someone because of a name? The name Magdalena Petit came from a book I read once,” Rachel said. “I lied when I said my name was Magdalena. I never knew a real person that went by that name.”

  Leon gasped for air. “When I finally found her, I discovered that she was not you. So I—so I killed her.” Leon grabbed his chest. “She was the first woman I ever—I ever killed.”

  Leon’s face contorted. “Pills! I must have my pills.” He clutched the front of his shirt. “They are—”

  Crouched on the floor, Rachel leaned over Leon. “Where are y
our pills, Leon?”

  He sent her a weak smile. “You called me Leon. Nobody has—” He grimaced. “Nobody has called me by that name in a very long time.”

  “Yes, yes.” Rachel looked around. “But where are your pills?”

  “In the—in the pocket inside my—my jacket.”

  Shannon knelt on the other side of Leon Picard while her mother found the sack of pills. “Are these what you are looking for?”

  “Yes.” Leon tensed as if the pain was unbearable. “Put one in my—my mouth.”

  Rachel reached in and got one of the pills.

  “Do not give it to him, Rachel,” Henri shouted. “Let him die.”

  “I cannot let someone die when I have the power to help him live. The authorities will take care of him. Open your mouth.”

  He did. She dropped in a pill.

  “You will go to hell, unless you repent.” Shannon said. “Do you repent, Mr. Picard?”

  He looked at her for a long moment. His eyes slowly closed.

  Rachel put her hand on his chest. “We have done all we could. Leon Picard has stopped breathing. I think he is dead.”

  Shannon looked at her mother. “Do you think he repented?”

  Her mother shrugged. “Only God knows.”

  There was a knock at the door. Before anyone could open it, the door opened and a man stepped inside.

  “Forgive me for intruding,” the man said, “but I drove a Frenchman here some time ago, and I heard shouting. Can I be of help?”

  “You are the carriage driver from town, are you not?” Henri said.

  “I am.”

  “Then you can help us get the Frenchman into town. He had pains in his chest, and now he is dead.”

  “I have known the Frenchman for over twenty years,” Shannon’s father said. “I will ride into town with his body.”

  Ian and the other men loaded Leon’s body onto the carriage. Then Ian went and stood with the women. When the lights from the carriage were no longer visible, he put one arm around Shannon and the other around her mother.