The Mysterious Merriana
Page 23
“Do you think it’s another assignment, Justin?” Luke wanted to know.
“No, I’ve been promised leave for a few weeks. No doubt someone just wants further amplification on my last report. Tom, can you go to Merriana instead of following Ernest?”
Tom eyes sparkled. “You bet I can,” he exclaimed. “And you can depend on me to guard her careful this time, Justin.”
“I’m sure I can, Tom. Try not to frighten her, but impress upon her the necessity for caution. Ernest may be half mad but he’s no less clever for that. She shouldn’t be out of that farmhouse alone. Make certain she understands that. I’ll placate Whitehall and join you, hopefully within a day.”
“Don’t you worry, Justin. I’ll convince Merriana to stay put and watch her back. Never you fear.”
Chapter 28
Merriana was convinced that to the casual observer, she and her new friends would have appeared relaxed as they went about their daily chores. Laughter often drifted from the farmhouse’s open windows, and cheerful smiles were much more in evidence than were looks of anxiety. But she was well aware that, for all their carefree appearances, not a person on the Belcour farm had forgotten that danger might well lurk just beyond their fences, waiting only for a moment of carelessness on their part to threaten the young woman who had sought sanctuary there.
Certainly Merriana had not forgotten the danger represented by her uncle, nor did she underestimate his proficiency when it came to achieving his goals. Thus, although she often longed to be alone, she never complained about the fact that Jacques or one of the Belcour sons always managed to be nearby when she wandered a few steps from the house. She realized that her friends felt at ease only when they were assured that one of them was close.
On one particularly beautiful morning, Vidal asked his mother to bake apple tarts for dinner if she had time, and she said that she would be pleased to oblige if someone else could pick the apples, for she was too busy to include that chore in her morning’s activities.
Merriana quickly volunteered for the task, eager to take advantage of any opportunity to be of real assistance to her hostess, but Madame Belcour did not immediately agree. Instead, she glanced toward her husband.
“The field we’ll be working in this morning is right next to the orchard,” Monsieur Belcour replied to his wife’s unspoken question. “Any one of us could be there in a thrice should the need arise. But perhaps Jacques should—”
“No,” Merriana interrupted. “I know you have a great deal you need to accomplish today, so there’s no sense in Jacques wasting time by accompanying me. As you said, Monsieur Belcour, all of you will be nearby should I have need of you.”
No one could argue with the logic of Merriana’s statement, and so it was agreed that she would go to the orchard unaccompanied, much to her relief. She looked forward to the time alone, when she could let down her guard and continue her struggle to abolish her longings for Justin. But that task was not easy, she discovered anew as she wandered among the apple trees, searching out the ripest and best fruit for their dinner’s dessert.
The small basket she carried on her arm was nearly full when Merriana sensed she was not alone. Perhaps it was the sudden flight of a bird that warned her, although later she was to remember that the hairs on the back of her neck had provided the first intimation of danger. She quickly glanced around, but saw nothing unusual, although the very emptiness of the orchard served to heighten her fears. Generally, there were several birds industriously pecking at the fallen fruit, but today there were none. Merriana decided to move as unobtrusively as possible toward the field where the men were working. Perhaps, had she been more certain that her fears were not mere figments of her overburdened mind, she would have called for help, but she had no desire to alarm the men without good reason.
She never saw the stout branch that slammed into the back of her head, although later that morning the same branch was found by Vidal and Henri lying beside an overturned basket of apples, providing proof that Merriana had been taken against her will. Jacques and the Belcours immediately instituted a search, but by this time Merriana had regained consciousness and was slowly pushing herself upright in the seat of a private coach that lurched to and fro as the horses pulling it strained to go at top speed.
Seated across from her was a complete stranger, a man who watched her with a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Despite her pounding head, total disorientation, and a very real feeling of nausea, Merriana couldn’t help but realize that her captor was the handsomest creature she’d ever seen. His face would have made a Greek god blush in shame, proportioned as it was with unbelievable perfection and surrounded by a mane of golden hair that glittered in the soft light filtering through the coach windows. His broad shoulders, slender hips, and long legs were shown to advantage by well-tailored clothes carefully coordinated in understated shades that seemed to accentuate his masculine beauty.
“Who are you?” Merriana demanded, scowling at him.
“I’m sorry if you aren’t feeling well just now,” the man replied calmly. “I really would have preferred not hitting you, but with your friends nearby, I felt I had no choice.”
Merriana gingerly touched the lump on the back of her head. “I would have preferred your not hitting me too,” she mumbled. “Ouch! I think you’ve broken the skin.”
“I didn’t hit you that hard, my dear girl,” the gentleman replied, a smile in his voice. “I like to think I’m very adept at these things. A less experienced person might have killed you.”
“If you’re expecting me to thank you—” Merriana began through gritted teeth.
“I’m not,” the man interrupted. “In fact, I would probably be as irritable as you are if our circumstances were reversed. Would you care for a drink of wine? I have a bottle right here.” He motioned toward a basket on the seat beside him.
“Thank you, no,” Merriana replied, wrinkling her nose. The thought of wine did nothing to settle her queasy stomach. “What I would like are a few answers. Who are you? Why have you abducted me? And where are you taking me?”
“My, you are curious, aren’t you?”
“Did my uncle Ernest send you?” Merriana was finding as she talked that her head was aching less and she was feeling a bit less disoriented—until her captor replied to her most recent question.
“Your uncle Ernest? No. I came at your brother Charles’s behest.”
“Charles?” Merriana frowned. “Charles sent you? But that’s ridiculous. Charles would never send someone for me who would hit me on the head.”
“But wouldn’t you rather that I had hit you on the head than that I had felt obliged to kill all of your friends?” he asked in a tone generally reserved for reasoning with recalcitrant young people.
“Kill my friends?” Merriana repeated. “Sir, you make no sense. And I don’t believe Charles sent you. I will never believe that he would be acquainted with one such as you.”
“Ah, but he is, my dear, albeit only recently. You see, Charles is at present my guest, although a reluctant one, I’ll admit.”
Merriana’s hopes plummeted. If this man had captured Charles, then he must surely be associated with her mad uncle and that would mean that both she and Charles were in grave danger.
“Who are you?” Merriana asked again.
The gentleman seated across from her had been smiling, the expression in his gorgeous green eyes almost pleasant. But within a mere second after Merriana had voiced her query, those eyes were transformed to green ice. “Forgive me, my dear,” her captor sneered. “You’ve asked that question before and I failed to respond. But, you see, my real name would mean nothing to you. Still, one must have a name. It’s the civilized thing to do, isn’t it? So you may call me… ” He paused as though considering a name for her use.
“Lucifer?” Merriana suggested while glaring at him with narrowed eyes.
The intended insult seemed to amuse him. “If you wish,” he replied with a sm
ile. “Yes, you may definitely call me Lucifer.” He laughed then until droplets of moisture danced in his eyes, brightening their hue to a deep emerald that sparkled like faceted gems. Merriana merely stared at him, near dazed by the contradictions the man represented. It was strange, she decided, that Lucifer had remained so beautiful after his ejection from heaven.
She continued to stare at him while he laughed, but when his mirth died to soft chuckles, she was ready with another question. “Where is my uncle Ernest?”
The man raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “My but you have an inordinate amount of interest in your uncle Ernest, my dear! I regret to inform you that you will not be seeing your uncle anytime soon. You see, I refrained from telling him about this particular plan. He is, unfortunately, an amateur who thinks himself clever, which only serves to make him dangerous. But, even worse, he occasionally resurrects that remnant of honor he still possesses and which gets in the way of common sense. Witness his promise to that paragon of all the virtues, his beloved son. Ernest swore to the boy that he would not kill you, thus allowing you to go free when he had your death in his grasp. Had he killed you then, this charade would be unnecessary.”
“I suppose it was thoughtless of him to leave me alive,” Merriana noted sarcastically. “I assume you do not plan to make the same mistake.”
Merriana thought she detected a flicker of respect in the quick glance she received from her captor. “So you’re not a sniveling fool after all,” he commented. “That is regrettable for, much as you may doubt it, killing is not one of my favorite activities. I shall be sorry to be obliged to end your life.”
Merriana was scarcely heartened by hearing her suspicions confirmed, but she had no intention of letting this man know just how frightened she was. She raised her chin and glared at him. “You have my sympathy sir,” she said with curled lip. “But since you claim killing is not something you enjoy, perhaps you would be kind enough to assuage my curiosity by explaining how you reconcile your participation in murder with your conscience. Have you no fear for your immortal soul?”
He seemed to give serious consideration to her question, cocking his golden head to one side as though in deep concentration. “You know,” he said at last, “I think I have not. I decided long ago to worry about the hereafter when the time comes. If I’m to choose between a theoretical heaven in the skies which no man has seen and a utopia of my own making here on earth, why, there’s little choice to make. I choose my own endeavors over ethereal promises any day.”
Merriana sighed softly. Appealing to the man’s better nature was achieving nothing, so she decided to try a different tack. “But how could you possibly profit from mine and Charles’s deaths?” she asked. “You are not related to us, I believe.”
The man laughed, a delightful sound that nevertheless sent a chill streaking to Merriana’s very marrow. “Believe me,” he said, chuckling, “I thank all of the gods that men have worshipped through all of the years since time began that I have none of your puny aristocratic blood running through my veins. But I am related to you, nonetheless, my dear cousin-in-law. My lovely wife, Jennie, even as we speak, is calling herself by your name and endearing herself to your beloved uncle Sylvester. When you and Charles disappear, having left written confessions that you were both impostors, the duke will accept Jennie as the sole heir to that massive fortune he has accumulated over the years. Then Ernest and Jennie and I will have enough funds to live in the style to which we aspire, and, almost as importantly, we will have access to the society to which Jennie aspires. Living in obscurity on the continent for all the years of her life has not pleased her or endeared her father’s family to her.”
If Merriana had cherished any hopes that this man would allow her and Charles to live, those hopes died with his latest words. Never, she realized, would he have confided such dangerous information had he thought she stood a chance of surviving to share it. She knew, as surely as she knew that the horses pulling them breathed, that she was in the presence of a man of almost incomprehensible danger.
“You mentioned confessions,” Merriana noted. Although her mouth was now dry from fear, she was pleased to find that her voice didn’t tremble. “Do you expect to coerce Charles and me into writing false confessions? Charles will not be easily persuadable, I fear.”
“No doubt he would not,” her captor agreed amiably, “were I only to torture him. But I wonder how long he will allow me to torture you before he agrees to whatever I wish.”
Merriana’s gasp of horror seemed to amuse him, for he smiled before he continued. “The same will apply to you, too, my dear cousin-in-law. Will you watch your brother in agony for hours while you refuse to comply with my wishes? No? I thought not. No need to try to pierce me with your eyes. My armor is unassailable. The lack of a conscience can be wonderful protection in cases such as this.”
“I can see that,” Merriana said stiffly. “And although I can understand why my confession as an impostor would be of value to you, I cannot see how Charles’s would be. Uncle Sylvester has known him since he was a child. He will never think Charles to be other than who he is.”
“How refreshingly naive you are, my dear. And, alas, so unimaginative. Your brother will write in his confession that the real Charles died as a boy on the dangerous trip from his parents’ home in France to his uncle in England and that Ernest masterminded a deception to replace the dead Charles with another boy. Charles will further stipulate that he was to share his part of the inheritance with Ernest. Alas, he met you, another impostor, and fell madly in love with you. Thus, you and he have given up this life of subterfuge and trickery to travel to the new world where you hope to live, loving and happily, until ‘death do you part,’ and so forth. You will even depart England together on a ship bound for America, should Sylvester decide to investigate the matter further.”
“Is that where you’re taking me now—to this ship?”
“Yes.”
“And is Charles awaiting me there?”
“Yes, but please don’t begin anticipating a happy reunion after which your marvelous brother will effect an amazing rescue. Charles, unfortunately, is in no condition to be rescuing anyone.”
Merriana clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms, but she managed to keep her chin high. “How badly is he hurt?”
“He’s alive, although he would be more comfortable now if he had been more cooperative earlier. Your brother has an unfortunate stubborn streak, I fear. I regret, of course, having had to use force, but it was necessary to get him on the ship as soon as possible. That particular ship will be well guarded until we sail. I shall be accompanying you. Not all the way, of course. The captain, an amiable and greedy fellow, has agreed to a slight detour to set me off after the unfortunate accident in which the sea claims you and Charles.”
“Why go to so much trouble?” Merriana asked, sincerely puzzled by his plan. “Would it not be simpler and easier to dispose of us in England and then merely claim that we had left on a ship? I’m sure, if this captain is so greedy, he can be persuaded to remember events that did not take place.”
“How kind of you to attempt to lighten my burden in this way. However, I am not one to take chances, and bodies are more difficult to hide in London than you would believe. Even the Thames usually fails to secrete them properly, but the sea is a different matter, particularly if one is several miles out. And even then, ’twill be an accident. An unfortunate one, of course, and the captain, should he ever be questioned, will be sick at heart over the unusually violent storm that swept the both of you overboard. Still, such things happen, and not that infrequently either. It’s a fact of life—and of death.”
“This captain might betray you someday,” Merriana noted, realizing as she spoke that she was grasping at straws. “Particularly if he is as greedy as you say.”
“Greedy, yes. Foolhardy, no. He is well aware that a man with money is no happier than a man without—when both are in the grave.”
“How many would I kill?” he repeated, seemingly surprised by the question. “Do you ask for a number, or would it suffice to say I would kill all who stand between me and what I want? For I would, you know.”
“Yes,” Merriana agreed. “Yes, I see that.”
There seemed little more to say after that, and the two rode in silence as the coach that carried them toward London swayed and lurched on its way.
Chapter 29
By the time Justin had finished answering the series of seemingly unrelated questions put to him by Whitehall officials, he was frustrated and angry—frustrated because he was being delayed in his efforts to find Merriana, and angry because he had come to suspect that the questions were not really related to the war effort but were simply the result of some junior official’s desire to appear more important than he really was.
The minute Justin was free, he went in search of Michael Hudson, a search that was blessedly short, considering that Michael had come to Whitehall looking for him. They met on the street but quickly ducked into a nearby alleyway.
“I see you got the messages I sent you,” Michael said, a smile lurking in his eyes.
Justin glared at him a second. “Thank you for that, but why are earth did you send Duffy Finch? I thought I’d go mad before he located the piece of paper he’d hidden so cleverly that even he couldn’t find it.”
Michael laughed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you called me out over that, but I assure you I had no choice. I had just left the foreign office, having been asked to inform you that your presence was required. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, I intended to go to the Drake and Cock in person to deliver that message and tell you that my friends had located your young woman.