by Sharon Page
“Well, thanks to you, I survived it. I think you deserve a reward.”
* * *
To Cal’s surprise, Julia flung her arms around his neck. Her mouth met his in a searing kiss and knocked him back against his seat. At once, he felt the rush of blood to his groin, hardening and thickening him.
They could have been killed. Julia should have been terrified and fainting. But she was talking with toughness. And all he wanted to do was open his trousers and pull her on top of him and take advantage of all this hot passion she was giving him.
So he did that.
With laurel branches tangled in the car, he held Julia on his lap. And he pushed her short skirt out of the way. With his fingers, he teased her, gazing deep into her eyes. He could have lost her. The thought speared him.
She moaned. “Oh yes.”
He pulled open his trousers and she wrapped her hand around his shaft, making him groan in sensual agony. To his shock, Julia took him inside and began moving on him. He grasped her hips and met her thrust for thrust. He was driving to take her to her peak when he heard a loud bleating. A voice called, “Hello there? Are you all right?”
“We’re okay,” Cal called casually, as if he wasn’t making love to his wife in a crashed car.
A flock of sheep wandered up to inspect the car. Then Cal saw a gnarled man with a walking stick making his way toward them. The farmer, Brand. He quickly lifted Julia off him and set her back beside him. He heard her giggle behind her palm.
“I can bring me plow horses and pull the car back to the big house for ye, if it will roll,” Brand said as he approached.
“I’d appreciate it, Brand,” Cal said, fighting to discreetly fasten his trousers. “The brakes failed and we had to crash.”
“Newfangled things.” Brand shook his head and went to get the horses.
“What happened to the brakes?” Julia asked. “When I put my foot on the pedal, it sank to the floor without doing a thing.”
“There was no hydraulic pressure in the line.”
“What does that mean?”
He explained quickly how brakes worked. “There’s got to be a break in the line.” He would be able to figure out what happened if he could get under the car and check the line. But there were too many broken branches snagged beneath the car, and the rutted ground was too high for him to crawl underneath.
Then he saw Julia was shaking. Cal swung out of the vehicle, lifted her out and led her to the farmhouse. Mrs. Brand was upstairs, asleep. Cal made tea.
After a few sips, Brand said, “You’d best be careful. We don’t want any harm to fall upon her ladyship, my lord. She’s most beloved around here.”
“I know she is. And I won’t let anything hurt her.”
“There’s the curse, you know.”
“There’s no such thing as curses,” Cal muttered.
“The curse came true for the dowager countess. Old Lady Worthington has known nothing but pain. Her eldest lad was killed at the Somme and the youngest died in a motorcar accident.”
Cal’s mam was Irish and believed in pixies, fairies and evil sprites. But he had grown up in a world where he’d fought to get out—and he’d won. Airplanes and motorcars were possible, and they were based on the principles of physics, on chemical reactions and combustion and gears.
“I don’t believe it, Brand. No one can utter a few words and cause accidents to happen, or create illness, or cause people to die. A man can cause harm to other men—but he’s got to use something physical to do it. Like a machine gun or an artillery shell.”
But when he got the car back to Worthington, after giving Brand some money for his trouble and sending the chauffeur to deliver the pies for the Tofts—which had survived the accident—he took a look under the automobile to see what had gone wrong with the brakes. What he saw gave him the shock of his life.
* * *
Cal went to Julia’s bedroom. He didn’t knock. Julia was his wife, and he didn’t see that a husband and wife should be asking permission to see each other. But when he opened the door, Ellen Lambert stood there, arms crossed over her chest.
“Her ladyship is not well tonight.”
“What’s wrong?” Fear gripped him.
“Your automobile crashed into a tree. My poor lady was shaking. She certainly does not need...attentions from a husband tonight.”
“I crashed the car to save her life. Is she all right? Does she need a doctor?”
“She needs her rest.”
He was going to push past, but then Ellen added, “Her ladyship has not looked well since the day after the wedding, when you went away.”
Guilt hit him. He couldn’t admit he’d gone to tell O’Brien to get the hell away from his family. And his anger had only made O’Brien realize he was afraid of Julia learning the truth.
Retreating to his room, Cal undid his robe. He was naked underneath, hadn’t bothered to put on pajamas. It almost physically hurt not to be with Julia.
He was stepping into trousers when his door opened.
Julia stood there. “Ellen told me she sent you away. But I wanted you to come to me tonight.” She shut the door. “Then I realized I could come to you.”
“Then I should be a good host. Do you want a drink?” Cal pulled out a flask. He was tired of brandy and cognac, snooty drinks consumed by pompous men. He needed a stiff drink right now.
“What is it?”
“A drink I would have drunk at home.”
“Moonshine?”
He laughed. “I’ve never had moonshine. Some of it could make you blind. So could bathtub gin, but I admit I’ve drank that. But this I bought in London. Good Irish whiskey.”
“I’ve never had whiskey. Women don’t.”
He poured a finger of the liquor in a tumbler. Handed it to her where she sat on the edge of the bed. “But you aren’t controlled by rules and tradition, Julia.” He held his glass in the air as if toasting her, and took a drink.
She took a swallow. Pulled the glass from her lips. Coughed. “It’s like fire in a glass—if fire tasted bitter and awful.”
He grinned, though he was troubled. “That is fine ten-year-old whiskey.”
“Then I think it has gone bad. Unlike wine, aging didn’t seem to help.”
He swung away from the bedpost and sat down beside her. She looked a bit shocked, then, to his delight, she pressed against him.
“I know you looked at the motorcar. What had gone wrong?” she asked. “It wasn’t the chauffeur’s fault, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t his fault.”
“What is it?” He didn’t answer and she pressed, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“The brake line had been cut. Deliberately.” Had he been too blunt?
“I don’t know a lot about automobiles,” she said, looking direct and determined. “But if someone cut the brake, doesn’t that mean that person meant us to have a car accident?”
God, he admired her. She had incredible strength. “Yeah, I think so.”
“That means someone wishes us ill.”
“It was my car. It looks like it was intended for me. There have to be a lot of people who’d like me dead,” he said. O’Brien, possibly. The dowager countess—maybe her apology had been false.
“Why do you think that?” she protested. “All the tenants believe they have no better champion.”
The idea of someone wanting him dead didn’t surprise him. He’d run the risk of getting killed in a gang. At war, he’d escaped death more times than he could remember. In the prohibition world, he’d almost been snuffed several times. Death had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember.
What made him angry this time was that Julia had been in danger.
“What about
Lowry?” she asked. “He might have friends getting revenge for him.”
Cal nodded. She was a smart woman. “Maybe the dowager countess did it.”
Her mouth turned down. “I thought you two were growing to accept each other. And can you really imagine the dowager countess getting on the ground beneath your vehicle to cut a brake line?” Suddenly she giggled. But then she quickly sobered. “What of the man who attacked me?” she asked. “Could it be him—whoever he is?”
“It could be. I’m going to find out who was responsible—and make them pay.”
He saw her shiver. “I overheard the maids talking about the curse on the Worthington Wife.” She lifted her chin. “A brake line isn’t a curse. It’s a deliberate act of malice.”
“That’s true.” He took the glass out of her hand, put them both on the bedside table. “Don’t think about this anymore. You don’t have to worry about anything with me around.
“Tomorrow, I want you to pack, Julia. I want to take you to Italy, to Nice, to wherever you want to go. We’ll get away from here.” He fell back on his bed, pulling her with him. “Now let me make you forget about all this with a sweet roll in the hay.”
And he was pretty sure he did.
22
The Dowager Countess
When Julia went to sleep, Cal got out of bed quietly, got dressed and went out. He drove the Worthington Daimler to the Boar and Castle, parked outside.
Maybe O’Brien had cut the brake line to give Cal a warning.
The publican was still up, serving the last round. Cal found O’Brien with a glass of whiskey. “I wondered when you would show up after I met your wife. Do I tell the newspapers about your past or do I get my dough?”
“I gave you money to get the hell out of England. You’re not getting another penny from me.”
“Do you really want your pretty wife to read about you in the headlines?”
Cal was aware of the other few men in the bar staring at them, at O’Brien’s pale pink suit. In a low voice, he asked, “Did you cut the brake lines of my car?”
Kerry shrugged. “What if I did?”
Cal got up. He grabbed the bastard’s arm, twisted it behind him. “I’ll break your damned arm if you don’t promise to leave Julia and me alone. I’m willing to take care of you like we used to do it back in the Five Points Gang. Understand?”
“You wouldn’t. You’d be arrested—”
“I don’t give a damn. You almost killed my wife.”
He hauled O’Brien to his feet. Dragged him outside and sure enough, people looked at them, but no one said a word. Outside of the pub, he growled, “If you keep pushing me, you ain’t gonna live long enough to enjoy Jolly Old England.”
Once it wouldn’t have been an empty threat. But it was now. He prayed O’Brien didn’t figure that out.
O’Brien pulled out a knife, but Cal took care of that with a twist of the man’s wrist. “You sell the story to the newspapers, I’ll come for you. You do anything to hurt my wife, my family, or me, and I’ll get you. You know what I am capable of, O’Brien.”
His foe lost his bravado. “All right, damn it.”
Cal dragged Kerry O’Brien back into the public house and ordered him another drink. He paid for it. He was walking toward the door when O’Brien said, “I didn’t do it. Those brakes—that wasn’t me.”
He turned. “What?”
“I took credit for someone else’s work. I wouldn’t want to see you dead. Someone else wants that.” Sniggering, he tossed back his whiskey.
Cal went out the door, almost staggering. He’d thought that O’Brien had done it, which would mean it had nothing to do with the missing women or the attack on Julia. Damn. He drove back from the village to Worthington. The shortest route took him past Lilac Farm. It was faster, even though it was a rougher, windier road.
Something jumped in front of him. He slammed on the brake. The car screeched to a stop and his headlights illuminated a small hunched-over person. A woman, and she put her hands up to shield her eyes and let out a shriek.
Cal jumped out of the car. In the streams of light, Mrs. Brand huddled in a ball. He crouched beside her, trying to soothe her. He knew he hadn’t hit her, but she was terrified.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Brand?” Nothing looked broken, but as he tried to lift her to her feet, she struggled to scramble away, getting covered in mud. More forcefully than he wanted, he lifted her and drew her toward the car.
She took one look at his vehicle and screamed again. “The motorcar... You!” Frantic she shouted, “Sarah! I remember. The motor. It were here. What did you do with Sarah? I saw you!”
“I’m not the man who took Sarah,” he said, in a gentle voice. But she still screamed. He caught her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I’m Cal Carstairs. The earl. I want to find your daughter, Sarah.”
“I can’t find Sarah. It’s too late. I told her to go away if she couldn’t behave. What have I done?”
“It’s not your fault.” Gently he got Mrs. Brand to the door. “This isn’t the car that Sarah got into,” he said. “That was a dark red car. This one is dark blue.” Then, he gambled. “It was John Carstairs who took Sarah. Or was it Anthony?”
“That night...” She stared helplessly ahead. “The lights were so bright. I followed Sarah to the road. Sarah got into the car and I shouted at her not to go. That she was being wicked. That she would have a terrible reputation. They drove away. But I knew the shortcuts through the woods. I found the car. It was going slow up the lane. It had its lights off. I saw it turn. I followed, trudging and out of breath. But I found the car. I saw Sarah—she were asleep. I heard—It was a spade I heard. And I saw—”
She started to scream again.
Cal pulled out the small flask he kept in his pocket. “Irish whiskey. Like medicine.” He forced her to take two swallows. She couldn’t cry out while swallowing and he took care to make certain she didn’t choke. “Who took Sarah?”
“He were all in black. Like a demon. Then the car went away. I ran down to the farm, but when I got there...when I got into the kitchen I felt all dizzy. I don’t remember...”
“It’s okay. I’m going to take you back to the farm. I’m going to find Sarah.”
He got Mrs. Brand to sit in the car. Pulling a rug out of the back rumble seat, he wrapped it around her. That gave her lucidity long enough for her to look at him in shock. “My lord? Whatever am I doing here?”
“You don’t remember?”
The question made her panic.
“You were out walking,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to the farm.”
“Thank ye, milord,” she whispered.
When he reached Lilac Farm he found Brand holding a lantern, calling out in panic for his wife. The man almost fainted with relief as Cal drove up and helped her out. He helped Brand get her to her bed. “Brand, I believe she saw the man who took Sarah. I found her on the road—”
“She always chases after cars, thinking Sarah’s in one of them.”
“I think she saw something, up one of the lanes. She saw the car there that night.”
“She never told me. I didn’t know she’d gone out that night. I found her in the kitchen.”
Mrs. Brand must have collapsed because her mind had been unable to cope with the truth. Perhaps seeing his vehicle had made her remember. Which meant they might have been near where Sarah had been taken by a man who’d used a shovel.
* * *
Julia was still sleeping when Cal got back to Worthington. He left her alone, crawling into his own bed. At about three, he dozed off. When he woke, the sky had lightened to the color of steel. It was daylight, but the day was cloudy. Cal got up, got dressed. He got his car—the brake line was now fixed—and was driving past the house when a figure rushed
toward him. He hit the brake.
This time it was Julia. She wore a skirt and blouse and held a shawl that flapped in the wind. “I saw your light go on. Where are you going so early?”
“I think I know where to find Sarah Brand. I’m going now so I can be there when it’s light.”
“I am coming, too.”
“No, you’re not, Julia.”
“Yes, I am.” She pulled open the passenger door.
“All right. But you will have to stay in the car.”
As they drove he told her what Mrs. Brand had said. “I think she saw Sarah’s killer.”
“But why didn’t she ever say anything?” she asked.
“Maybe it was too much for her and the shock of it made her mind snap. I think seeing my automobile made her remember. You’d have to get a headshrinker like Sigmund Freud to figure it out.” He drove to the lane that led to Lilac Farm.
“It’s so awful to think she saw it,” Julia murmured.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do—I have to.”
He admired her courage. He drove slowly, looking for—looking for anywhere that might make a good place for a grave. Or graves. It had to be secluded enough that the killer had felt he could carry a body and dig a grave and not be seen. It had to be close enough to the farm that Mrs. Brand had been able to catch up to him. Obviously the killer didn’t know Mrs. Brand had seen him.
On his left was a lane that crawled up a hill. Tall grass filled in the track and tree branches hung over it. The grass had been knocked down recently. Some of the branches had been snapped. Someone had driven up this relatively unused path in the past few days.
I saw it turn. I followed, trudging and out of breath.
If Mrs. Brand had followed the car up the hill, she would have been out of breath. Cal crept up the track. He saw the fear on Julia’s face.
The track ran out on the top of a hill. There was an outcropping of rocks.
Julia pointed at them. “There were legends that those were used for sacrifices. It is supposed to be haunted. All nonsense, of course.”