by Cheryl Holt
“What?”
“I lied about letting you live.”
They were the last words Freddie ever heard.
The knife plunged into his abdomen, and by the time John slowly dragged it up toward his heart, he’d passed away and never heard anything again.
* * * *
As John approached the carriage, Bobby and Winnie were huddled by it. Bobby was coaxing her to climb in, but she was refusing, and who could blame her? She was bloody and battered, exhausted and bewildered, but she was tough and had put up a vigorous fight. On observing her pummeled condition, his rage flared even hotter.
What if he’d been delayed by five minutes? If he hadn’t arrived, she’d probably be dead. Freddie would have buried her in a shallow grave, and she’d have vanished, with no clue as to what had happened to her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he marched up.
“She’s a little befuddled, Lord John,” Bobby explained. “She’s suffered quite a shock, and she’s nervous about getting in.”
Bruises were popping out on her throat from where Freddie had throttled her, and John suspected it would swell, and she wouldn’t be able to speak for the next week or so.
He yearned to hug her, but she’d been beaten from head to toe. If he touched her in a single spot, he’d likely hurt her.
“Winnie,” he quietly stated, “it’s over. You can relax.”
She glanced into the woods, her terror evident. “Where is Mr. Townsend?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’ll never bother you again. He won’t have the chance.”
John and Bobby exchanged a significant look, but she was too distressed to realize what it indicated. Later on, she might wonder what had become of Freddie, but it would be later. John had time to decide how he’d answer any of her questions. Would he admit the truth? Would he deny it?
He supposed it would depend on how angry she was once she’d healed. Perhaps she’d be very, very glad to hear that Freddie was deceased.
There had been a stream in the forest a dozen yards from where he’d stabbed Freddie. John had hauled the body over and dropped it into the weeds along the bank. He’d riffled in Freddie’s pockets and grabbed his purse and other pertinent items that might have identified him.
He’d be found after awhile, and there’d be a brief inquiry. Ultimately, he’d be declared a stranger who was passing through the area. People would assume he’d been accosted by brigands and robbed.
“What about the driver?” she asked. “What about Arnold?”
“He slinked away, but I’ll find him. Don’t fret over it.”
She was trembling, and as a soldier, he’d often witnessed the same sort of reaction. He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders to warm her, then he opened the carriage door and peered inside. Freddie had been an accomplished drunkard, and he never traveled without a flask of whiskey. John retrieved it and pressed it to her lips.
“Drink,” he ordered. She tried to push it away, and he repeated more sternly, “Drink up. It will calm you.”
She downed a few sips, then a few more, swallowing a fair amount without coughing or spitting it out.
“Better?” he inquired. She nodded, and he said, “Climb in then.”
“To go where?”
“To Dunworthy.”
Frantically, she shook her head. “I can’t go to Dunworthy! It’s not safe there!”
“Bobby and I will make it safe for you.”
She blanched. “It’s not safe for him either.”
“It will be safe,” John insisted. “You trust me, don’t you?”
After a lengthy pause, where she puzzled it out, she said, “I don’t know.”
He chuckled. “Yes, you do. You trust me implicitly. You’re just a tad confused, but it will fade.”
He wouldn’t argue with her, and he lifted her in, then he gave Bobby the flask. “I’ll drive. You sit with her. Have her drink more of this.”
“I will.”
“Let her sleep if you can convince her. I’m betting—after the fright wanes—she’ll doze pretty fast.”
Bobby clamored in, and he called to Rex. Rex was the hero of the day, so he wouldn’t have to run to Dunworthy. He’d ride in style. At being invited in with Bobby, he seemed to grin, then he jumped in too.
John’s horse was munching grass in the ditch, and John tied its reins to the rear of the vehicle, then he leaned in for a final glimpse.
Winnie and Bobby were nestled together on the seat, and Rex had his muzzle on her thigh. Bobby was holding her hand and talking in a soothing manner. Eventually, she’d be fine, but at the moment, she might have been a ghost, as if she wasn’t present in her body.
Bobby gestured that they were all right, and John shut the door and leapt into the box. He clicked the reins so the horses would get moving.
He had to return to Dunworthy, had to take Winnie home so she could begin to recover from her nightmare. Then he had to deal with Melvina and his family. For once, he couldn’t wait to brawl with each and every one of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“How do you plead?”
“Guilty, Lord John, and I throw myself on your mercy.”
Winnie sat on the dais with John. She was on one side of him and Jane—as his closest relative—was on the other. Jane had become a fierce little thing, a castle leader who carried out John’s orders to the letter. His lazy kin angered her at their peril.
The main hall was packed with Dunn family members. Everyone who could come had come to learn how John would treat those who had cheated him, stolen from him, disobeyed him, or ignored his commands. The crimes committed against Winnie were at the heart of every conversation, and she’d just as soon not be part of it.
She hated to have his cousins gaping—they all terrified her—but John had insisted.
No doubt she would gradually recover from her ordeal. Her body was still tender with bruises, but physical injuries healed. She was more concerned about her mental state.
She’d always viewed herself as being tough and brave, but the debacle had left her a trembling wreck. At the slightest sound, she’d jump with dismay. If she walked around a corner and a person was standing there, her pulse would race with alarm.
Jane slept with her at night, which was comforting, but she kept having frightening nightmares where she’d lurch awake. Then she’d fret for hours, not able to calm down and fall back asleep, so she was constantly exhausted.
The cure for what ailed her was to flee Dunworthy, and she was happy to go, but she couldn’t go yet. She was too worn down, too overwhelmed.
Bobby and Jane were overly disturbed too, horrified over what had happened to her. With Bobby’s wounds still healing, she didn’t dare broach the subject of her departure. Plus, there was John with whom to contend. Any attempt to leave would be met by his staunch resistance.
Since they’d returned to Dunworthy a few days earlier, she’d rarely seen him. Jane had mentioned he was cleaning up Melvina’s messes. Winnie didn’t know what that meant and didn’t want to know. She was too bewildered to think clearly. On the odd occasions where they crossed paths, he seemed to be convinced she was staying at Dunworthy.
If she’d been more hale, she might have told him he was completely deranged. His relatives were a band of dangerous lunatics, and no matter how many of them he kicked out or punished, she would never be safe around them.
Suddenly, she realized John was staring at her, and it had grown very quiet. Apparently, they’d been discussing her and were awaiting a response.
John pointed to the oaf in front of them. “Was he at Melvina’s tribunal?”
Winnie shook her head. She could talk, but the swelling in her throat was painful, so she remained silent unless words were absolutely necessary.
John studied the man. “Were you aware of the plans with regard to Miss Watson or Bobby?”
“No. I’d only heard grumbling
about her, that she was changing routines and people didn’t like it. I never heard a peep beyond that, and I was certainly never informed that violence was brewing.”
“Have you ever stolen from me?”
“Never once!” The man glanced at his cousins, his expression filled with disdain.
John nodded. “You’re excused—with no penalty imposed.”
The examinations continued on like that, with various dolts approaching the dais and declaring their innocence or presenting a paltry defense. Most of them claimed to be honest and loyal, but Winnie had no idea if they were telling the truth, and she wouldn’t try to judge.
They were John’s problem, and all of it was his dilemma. Not hers.
“You brought a satchel,” John said to a supplicant. “What’s in it?”
“It’s what I took from you. I was…ah…employed in the kitchen, and I repeatedly pilfered from the larder. I sold my ill-gotten goods, and I’m giving you the money I earned.”
“Why would you feel at liberty to embezzle from me?”
The man shrugged. “Mistress Dunn regularly stole, so it started to seem as if theft was allowed.”
John motioned for him to toss the satchel on the pile with the rest of his restored loot. The mound was quite large, a collection of money, gold coins, silver candlesticks and plate, and other items of value that had been sneaked out over the years.
“When this is through,” he murmured to Winnie, “I’m predicting I’ll be wealthy again. Perhaps I’ll be able to cease my illicit activities.”
Jane replied with what Winnie was thinking: “You should cease them.”
John grinned at Jane. “You’re correct, Jane. I should behave better.”
The petitioner yanked their attention back to him. “I’m sorry, Lord John, and I offer my most humble apologies.”
“You live in Dunn village. Why shouldn’t I evict you?”
Before the man could answer, his wife blustered forward, and she spewed a litany of how long her family had resided on the island, how stupid her husband had been, how she’d been in the dark as to his thieving, how—now that she’d discovered it—she’d never let him engage in mischief again.
“I’ll take your comments under advisement,” John told the woman. “I’ll notify you of my verdict next week.”
“Thank you, Lord John.”
The married pair bobbed in unison.
“I’m curious as to your opinion about Miss Watson,” he said to them.
“I like Miss Watson very much,” the wife responded. “She’s a hard worker, and she’s been good for Dunworthy.”
“And how about Bobby and Jane? Have you an opinion about them?”
“We don’t know them, but they’re very popular with the other children.”
“There’s been a ridiculous notion circulating that I have no right to invite them—or whomever I choose—into my home. How do you feel about that?”
“This castle is your castle, Lord John,” the husband said. “Why would it be any of our business who you welcome?”
“Precisely.” John glowered at his relatives, wanting the point to be very clear.
He could be exceeding kind, and though he was currently very angry, he could be very forgiving too. Eventually, he’d permit people to remain, despite their stealing, despite their disrespect. They simply had to exhibit sufficient contrition.
If the place had belonged to Winnie, she’d have thrown them all out and washed her hands of the whole miserable crew, but it didn’t belong to her, and none of this was any of her concern.
She wished he hadn’t made her watch the proceedings. In her mind, she was already halfway to London. She still hadn’t had a chance to write a letter to her cousin or to Josephine Bates. She needed to apprise them she would be on her way shortly.
There was a rumbling in the rear of the room, and Ellen Dunn rushed in. She headed straight for the dais and fell to her knees in entreaty.
Ellen had been confined to her bedchamber, so Winnie hadn’t seen her since she’d been back, and she hadn’t settled on how she felt about Ellen and her misadventure with Holden. She pitied her, but at the same time, she desperately yearned to shout, I warned you! You should have listened to me!
“Uncle John,” Ellen said, “I just learned of this hearing.”
“Why would you be in the dark? It’s all anyone’s talked about for days.”
“No one tells me anything anymore.”
“With good reason,” her uncle fumed.
“Rumor has it that you’re about to put my mother on trial.”
“It’s definitely my plan.”
“Please, please—please!—don’t judge me with her. I’m guessing you’ll banish her, but if she’s expelled, don’t cast me out too.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” John inquired.
“You’d never be that cruel. You’d never punish me by making me spend the rest of my life with her.”
“You’re her daughter, and I haven’t noticed that you’re much different from her. Shouldn’t you suffer her same fate?”
“I’m so different,” Ellen insisted. “I can’t begin to count the ways.”
“Name one.”
“I’m so sorry!”
Ellen burst into tears that appeared genuine. She probably wasn’t faking—and she was just sixteen. Who could blame her for any of the trouble Holden had coerced her into committing?
“Are you sorry?” John asked Ellen. “That’s the problem I’m having. You can be amiable and sweet, but you can also be horrid and awful. When I rescued you from your sham elopement, you were snotty, impertinent, and not the least bit thankful.”
“I regret every word.”
“I’m ridding myself of the ingrates who don’t cherish what we have at Dunworthy. Why should I let you tarry?”
“I was a shrew and a brat. I admit it, but I’ll never act like that again.”
John turned to Winnie. “Should I believe her?”
Ellen beseeched Winnie with her eyes, and Winnie wished she wouldn’t. She refused to be dragged into the morass. How might Ellen treat John in the future? Winnie would hate to vouch for the girl, only to discover that she grew to be as dreadful as John expected.
“I can’t imagine what you should think,” Winnie cautiously stated.
“I understand your qualms, Miss Watson,” Ellen said. “I was terrible to you too. You were very blunt about Mr. Cartwright, but I ignored you.”
“Yes,” Winnie replied, “and look where it left you.”
The remark sounded harsher than Winnie had intended, and Ellen’s shoulders drooped, her despair acute.
“You’re correct,” she agreed. “Uncle John sent me to my room—like the impudent child I am—and while I was there, I’ve had plenty of time to ponder my conduct.”
“I hope you’ve learned some valuable lessons.”
“I have,” Ellen claimed. “I can’t bear to be the person I became for Mr. Cartwright. I don’t like that person. I want to be helpful and decent like you.”
Winnie smirked. “I doubt that will get you very far with this crowd.”
“You’re wrong. If I could be just like you, I’m sure I’d be happy.” Ellen started to cry very hard, her arms reached out to Winnie in supplication. “Forgive me, Miss Watson. I was hideous to you; I was so rude and spiteful. I swear it was temporary insanity. I’ll never be so nasty ever again.”
Winnie thought Ellen was sincere, but who could be certain? Everyone was watching Winnie, eager for her response. With Ellen begging her pardon, how could Winnie fail to grant it?
“Ellen is very young,” Winnie told John, “and I know better than any female alive how persuasive Mr. Cartwright can be.”
“Too true, Miss Watson!” Ellen vehemently said.
“I’m positive she’s repentant.”
John stared at Ellen and asked, “What have you stolen from me over the years?”
&n
bsp; “I have never stolen a farthing. Nor have I taken anything else. I stole money from my mother to pay for my trip to Scotland, then Mr. Cartwright stole it from me. If I could retrieve it, I would give it all to you.”
John continued to stare, as he tried to figure out the best course. Would Ellen turn out to be like her mother? Or would she turn out to be the girl Winnie had first met, the girl who’d welcomed strangers?
Jane settled it. “I’ve always liked her, Uncle John. She’s been kind to me. You should be kind to her.”
John nodded. “You’ve convinced me, Jane. Ellen, you’re absolved of any transgressions, but from this point on, I expect you to be more cordial and less obstinate.”
“I will be, Uncle John. I promise!”
“And remember, if you annoy me, I can marry you off to someone repulsive.”
She blanched. “You wouldn’t!”
“No, but I could. Don’t push your luck.”
He waved for her to have a seat, and she sighed with relief and walked off.
Bobby entered then. He marched down the center aisle, and he was leading the carriage driver, Arnold Dunn. On observing him, Winnie braced, terrified that Freddie Townsend was about to enter too, but there was no sign of him.
There was just Arnold, and he was heavily fettered. He shuffled along, the rope at his ankles only allowing him tiny steps.
Winnie hadn’t a clue how or when he’d been located. Nor had she realized he’d been brought back to Dunworthy.
As he neared, she was delighted to note that he’d been thoroughly pummeled. His eyes were black and swollen, and his nose was crooked, as if it had been broken. If she’d cared about him at all—which she didn’t—she’d have inquired as to who had battered him, but it didn’t matter. She was merely thrilled that a sound thrashing had been delivered.
Evidently, she had some deeply-buried violent tendencies.
He stood before John, his head bowed in shame. John scrutinized him, the silence playing out. Ultimately, John asked, “Arnold Dunn, what have you to say to me?”
“I’m sorry, Lord John.”
“I’d let you apologize to Miss Watson and Bobby, but you will not speak to them.”