“So I was suspected of being both a traitor and a killer?”
His cousin made eye contact. “The Regent gave you time to prove your innocence.”
“But not alone?”
Phillip’s lips quirked. “I have been of assistance to His Royal Highness in the past, so he sent me to locate the missing documents and ascertain if, indeed, you were a traitor.”
“You have the papers,” Rufus said, his chest tight. “That leaves you to determine my guilt or innocence.”
“I determined that long ago, Cousin. When I was ten and you saved me from a thrashing by confessing that you took your father’s snuffbox when I had done it on a lark. You would never betray anyone, never mind England. That type of villainy is not in your makeup. I convinced my mother to come to Clearview so I could accompany her and prove your innocence.”
“How touching,” a man said from the doorway, the words layered in sarcasm.
Rufus swung around to find Martin Winfield shutting the door behind him. He aimed his pistol at them. “I will take those papers, Jones. So kind of you to fetch them for me, Terrance.”
So, Winfield was the killer. Rufus felt a cool thirst for revenge steal over him, and instead of surprise, his estimation of his neighbor’s cowardly character was merely confirmed.
Winfield motioned Phillip to stay in place. “I will take those papers. Toss them to me, sir. Gently!”
Phillip hesitated a moment and then threw the packet at him. As the man’s eyes followed the flying pages, Rufus drew his gun, cocked, and fired.
Winfield’s head jerked at the sound of the pistol cocking, and instead of reaching for the papers, he dove for the floor.
Phillip drew his pistol and aimed it at Winfield. “Lie still.”
“I suspect my cousin, too, has murder in his heart,” Rufus said and calmly took out the small ramrod and set to ramming another charge and ball down the barrel of his pistol. “I would not move an inch.”
Footsteps sounded outside, and then a loud argument ensued. Since Rufus had said he did not wish to be disturbed, Felton, once he had shown Winfield into this room, must have decided to personally bar entrance to anyone else. Unfortunately, Rufus recognized the lady’s dulcet tones.
Dammit! Why would Belle never listen to him when he told her to stay away?
Suddenly, Winfield rose from the floor and raced for the door. Rufus took after him. Phillip fired, and the ball hit the doorframe. Winfield flung open the door.
Outside Belle and Felton turned, eyes wide in surprise.
Rufus shouted a warning, but before he could get to Belle, Winfield pulled her to him and aimed his pistol at her head. “I think not, gentlemen.”
Phillip, in the midst of reloading, paused.
Rufus was ready to fire but could do nothing with Belle in the way.
“How dare you manhandle me, sir?” Belle squirmed in Winfield’s embrace. “Release me this instant!”
“Hold still, Belle.” Rufus swallowed hard as an image of her on the ground with a hole in her head, like his father, swam through his mind. “Hurt her, Winfield, and I will . . .”
“Will what, Terrance?” Winfield motioned for Felton to step into the room. “Kill me? Unlikely, old son. In case it escaped your notice, I have the upper hand, as I have had all along. Drop your weapons, gentlemen. Or as surely as I shot your father, Terrance, I will finish her.”
As Phillip obeyed and dropped his gun, Rufus’s breath left his chest in a gush of dismay. Then he, too, laid his pistol down.
Felton took that moment to bravely charge for the open door. Winfield struck him over the back of his head, and the butler crumpled.
“Damn you!” Rufus said. The old butler’s chest moved with labored breaths. At least the fiend had not killed him. “There was no call for that. He is an old man.”
“He was attempting to ruin my fun,” Winfield said in a reasonable tone and used his foot to shove the butler into the room, then he entered and shut the door. One arm wrapped around Belle, he moved a chair against the door and jammed it against the handle.
To prevent any further would-be rescuers who might have heard that shot and come to investigate, Rufus realized. Careful bastard.
Winfield motioned Phillip and him back before he kicked aside their dropped pistols. Then, one by one, starting with Rufus, he bade Belle to tie them up with slender ropes he produced from an inner pocket. He double-checked each knot to ensure she did not leave any loose. Felton alone remained unbound, but he was unconscious.
Once Belle was also secured to a chair, Winfield turned his attention to the scattered documents on the carpet. He carefully scanned the pages, his smile growing triumphant.
With each passing moment, any hope someone would come upstairs to check on the noise faded. Felton must have informed the servants that no one was to interrupt the master once his guest arrived. Though did he really want his mother or sister to walk in on this madman?
Winfield straightened from the floor and tucked the documents inside his jacket. “After months of seeking entry into this mausoleum and being foiled, this morning’s work has made those earlier failures feel less frustrating.”
Rufus glance at Phillip. His cousin looked as nonchalant as ever, but Rufus now realized that look of ennui was a façade that hid deep secrets. They might not be in as big a fix as he had thought. Phillip’s relaxed demeanor gave him the only ray of hope in this situation.
“Foiled how?” he asked to give Phillip time to act on whatever plan his cousin brewed in his devious brain. “You have only entered my home twice in recent weeks. Once when Belle was injured, and then again for the ball.”
“Yes,” Winfield said. “That accursed ball. If you had held it at my home, as I suggested, I would have had a clear field to enter Clearview while it lay empty. Instead, you had to have it here. When I finally could search the upper floors, that mutton-headed maid’s hysteria ruined my attempt.”
So that is why the maid had broken down. Rufus glanced at Belle to see if she had come to the same conclusion, that the maid had probably seen Winfield up here and mistaken his clandestine movements for a ghost.
Belle returned his look and then shook her head.
No? She stuck to her ghost theory despite obvious evidence to the contrary?
“But all that is past,” Winfield rambled on. “I forgive you since you did find these papers for me. Your father would be proud of your deductive abilities.”
“You will not get away,” Rufus said. Had Phillip’s right shoulders shifted to an awkward angle? If so, then Rufus needed to keep Winfield’s attention on him.
“Do not say you hold hopes of coming after me.” Winfield’s laugh blared. “We cannot have that, can we? I need several hours to see me safely to my ship. The trouble is, if I were to dispatch each of you, that would amount to a lot reloading, but the noise might bring the attention of your household, where that one shot did not.” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Hmm. What to do?”
“Leave, please!” Belle sounded desperate, her voice cracking.
Rufus wanted to wrap her into his arms and hold her safe, to tell her he would protect her at all costs. Unfortunately, he could not do any of that because he was tied to this blasted chair.
Winfield ignored her and gazed around, as if seeking inspiration, and then settled on a lighted candle. He plucked it from a nearby table.
“No!” Belle shouted. “Please, do not do this.”
Rufus glanced from her to Winfield in confusion. “What do you plan to do with that?”
“He is going to burn down Clearview, with us in it,” Belle said in a defeated voice.
“Very perceptive, Lady Belle. One might even say, psychical.” Winfield laughed and indicated the curtains. “What do you think, Terrance? A little distraction to keep ever
yone busy?”
He stared at the man in horror. “Are you mad? There are dozens of people in this house. You cannot mean to kill them all.”
“Once the fire spreads, I am sure they will run for the door like rats seeking refuge,” Winfield said in a careless tone. “You four, however, will not fare better than your father or that fool, Darby.”
WINFIELD’S WORDS brought home to Belle the man’s villainy. Her gaze kept returning to that flickering candle. She had to distract him from starting the fire.
“You say you killed Darby?” She flexed her fingers to see if she could wiggle them free, but instead the rope constricted her wrists so tightly that pins and needles shot up her arm.
“Darby?” Rufus repeated. “My mother’s friend?”
“Also friend to your father, apparently,” Winfield said. “The fool overheard a careless conversation between myself and my man, Langley, and went to warn the old earl. I stopped him, as I will all of you.”
“Why?” Belle asked. “What have any of us done to you?”
“Done to me?” Winfield stepped away from the curtain and toward her.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Before she came up here to find Rufus, she had warned Lady Terrance to get her family and the servants out. She might not be able to save herself, Rufus, and Phillip, but the longer she kept Winfield talking, the better the chances Rufus’s family and servants had to reach safety.
As she watched Winfield, she sent out her special senses to knock on this man’s consciousness. A wave of bottled rage answered her probe. His wrath was born of deep shame at his low birth because his noble mother married a commoner and became disinherited. That shame was fed by a deep-seated fear of Rufus Marlesbury.
Why?
No sooner did she think the question than the response swept her into the deepest corner of Winfield’s mind. There, a younger Rufus, surely no more than ten years of age, stumbled across Winfield viciously striking an innocent dog.
Belle cringed from that brutal vision, but it gave her valuable insight into this man’s character. From that instant when his cruel destruction was witnessed, a worry that Rufus would tell on him had taken hold of Winfield’s scruff and refused to let go.
That constant fear had twisted and ballooned out of proportion until it transformed a cowardly boy into a ruthless thug intent on stripping Rufus Marlesbury of everything he valued, and if that involved betraying England, so be it.
In a flash she witnessed the late Lord Terrance enter an empty copse on a dark night and another man approach him. This was a vision with which she was familiar. She had witnessed it in London and had run to warn his lordship. Instead, she had ended up disgracing herself on the Terrances’ front steps.
This time, she recognized Winfield as the assailant. The two men spoke. Rufus’s father shook his head at whatever Winfield requested, his lips twisting in contempt.
“My son is ten times your worth,” the late Lord Terrance said in a deadly voice. “Threaten Rufus again, and I will see you clapped in irons and your mother sent to the poor house.”
She recognized the late lordship’s overwhelming ferocity, had seen its effect on his own family. She almost felt sorry for Winfield until the image shifted, and she saw anger narrow his eyes.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Winfield raised his gun and fired. The late Lord Terrance fell, looking stunned that this whelp would dare fire on him.
Winfield quickly searched the man’s body, and then, not finding his prize, fists raised toward the heavens, he raged. Then shouts, followed by running footsteps, brought him to his senses, and Winfield backed away into the bushes. Rufus ran to his father’s body and hunched over it. Winfield reloaded. Before he finished, a hue and cry went up, and more footsteps and shouts came in their direction.
Winfield swore, but he knew he could not risk getting caught. As a last ditch effort, while Rufus’s back was to him, Winfield quietly laid the pistol near where Rufus knelt over his father’s corpse and skulked away.
“Why do I wish you harm?” Winfield asked her again as if stunned by the question. And well he might be if he carried this much fury against Rufus. But then a shutter fell over his emotions, almost as if he suspected she had delved into his psyche. “I see your game. You wish to delay me until help arrives. Unfortunately, my dear, I cannot spare time for your mind-tricks.”
With a sharp laugh, he turned and swept the candlelight at the curtains until a fire roared upward. “I hope you get as much enjoyment in watching this old horror of a house burn as I will.”
Belle could do naught but watch in despair as the flames licked toward the ceiling.
Winfield ran to the door and pasted his ear to it. Apparently satisfied at what he heard, he kicked Felton aside and tossed the chair away to open the door.
Earnest stood outside, looking weary and muddy. The dog launched himself at Winfield.
Winfield ducked and easily shoved the tired dog away. He ran out and shut the door. Above the frustrated dog’s barks, Winfield’s laughter echoed. Then the sound ended abruptly. Shouts followed, and a cry for help, and then there was a fierce, inhuman howl.
“IN GOD’S NAME, what was that?” Phillip asked.
Rufus shook his head, as perplexed as his cousin.
“It is the late Lord Terrance,” Belle said, sounding weary. “I doubt Mr. Winfield will make it to his ship.”
“Belle, this is hardly the time for that,” Rufus said, irritated. “I do not want us to spend our last moments fighting.”
“I am sorry,” she said, looking at him. “You should know that even if we burn, your family and servants are safe. Before I came upstairs, I warned Lady Terrance to get everyone out.”
“Good thinking, but what made you warn them?”
“I found the MacBrides tied up in the Briar stable. Winfield’s man, Langley, admitted that his master planned to kill you this morning. I could not let that happen.”
Rufus shook his head. How did she always manage to get in the middle of his problems? “Belle, I thank you for that, but you should not have put yourself in danger.”
“Could we focus on a way to free us?” Phillip asked in that same calm voice he used every day.
Rufus nodded. Smoke spread across the plastered ceiling, blackening the carvings. “Phillip, let us move our chairs back-to-back and see if we can reach each other’s cords.”
Putting action to word, the two shifted so their backs were to each other. The tall chairs had curved backs, however, and prevented them from reaching each other’s wrists.
“I have a better idea,” Belle said. “Earnest, come here.”
The hound ran to place his heavy front paws on her lap and lick her face.
“Good dog. Oh, Earnest, I am so glad you are well. I told you to stay with Grandpapa. You could have killed yourself following me, you foolish hound.”
“Lady Belle,” Phillip said, “I do not mean to press you, but could you hurry with whatever idea you have?”
Belle smiled at Phillip over her shoulder and then focused back on the dog. “Earnest, bite the rope.”
“That is your plan?” Rufus asked, stunned.
“I am talking to the dog,” she said.
“Your plan is a dog rescue?” Phillip asked.
“Shhh, I am trying to concentrate. Earnest. Pull on the rope.”
Earnest jumped off her lap and circled her. He licked at her fingers.
“The rope, Earnest. Bite the rope and pull back.”
“I do not believe what I am seeing,” Rufus said as the hound tore at Belle’s binding.
Phillip bounced his chair around so he, too, could watch the dog. After a few tugs, Belle pulled her hands free. She untied her feet, and then petted the dog before she approached Rufus.
“I could not even teach the d
og to roll over,” he said, dumbfounded. “How did you manage that?”
“Believe me or not,” she said, “but Earnest can understand my thoughts.”
As Belle came over to work on the rope binding his hands, Rufus found his skepticism fleeing before the factual evidence. Once loose, he caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. “I am sorry for constantly doubting you.”
“If you two are finished romancing,” Phillip said, actually sounding aggrieved, “could you free me, too?”
“And here I thought you were the great spy, and you do not know how to get yourself out of a little knot?” Rufus teased as he worked on the ropes binding his cousin’s wrists.
“Expedience is the ruler in all situations,” Phillip said. “I was testing the possibility of dislodging my shoulder and arm bones to free myself, but this seems the better solution.”
Rufus gulped because he believed Phillip would have done that if Belle’s plan failed.
“The fire’s spread too far to put it out without water,” Phillip said. “We need to get out, and fast.”
Belle stood by as Phillip helped Rufus lift Felton. While they carried the man between them, they all fled down the corridor. They had just reached the landing to the stairs when a bone-chilling scream came from the attic above them.
“Winfield,” Belle said with pity in her voice. “Your father has him.”
Rufus opened his mouth to object, but then closed it. If he could believe that Belle could indeed speak to Earnest, then why could he not believe her story that his father haunted the manor? And something definitely had Winfield in a panic. At that moment, Rufus decided to believe her. If there were such things as ghosts, then his father was upstairs doing only God knew what to Winfield.
Rufus examined the narrow wooden stairs that led upwards. If his father was haunting the manor, it was his responsibility to save the ghost’s victim, even if that man was Winfield.
He shifted Felton’s weight entirely onto Phillip. “Ensure Belle and Felton are safe.”
A Beastly Scandal Page 26