Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery)

by Huber, AnnaLee

I shook my head. “No.” I lifted my right hand and let Will take hold of it. “It’s just a little sore.”

  He cradled it almost reverently, his chill, rough fingers skimming over my skin. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m not fit for company,” he murmured under his breath.

  I squeezed his hand gently and offered him a tight smile. There wasn’t time to discuss it, not with the rain beginning and Mac still nowhere to be found. I peeked over the edge of the battlements again, disturbed by the fact that Mac was no longer standing below. “Where do you think he’s gone?” I asked as a fat raindrop fell on my forehead and rolled down my face. I pulled my cloak hood over my hair, wishing I’d taken the time to grab a coat for Will. His thin shirt and waistcoat could be doing nothing to protect him from the cold wind, and they certainly wouldn’t keep him dry.

  His face tightened with growing worry. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be like Mac to abandon us.” He leaned farther out, peering to the left and to the right of the castle, down the shoreline. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see better in the encroaching darkness.

  I tugged on his arm. “Let’s get out of the rain.” And out of this derelict, old castle, I added, unspoken. “Maybe he’s waiting for us under the trees on the other side of the castle, where we can’t see him.”

  Will nodded, but there was a new watchfulness to his movements that set me on edge. I tried to follow where his gaze had gone, wondering if he’d seen something I hadn’t, but he took hold of my hand and pulled me toward the stairs, taking the lead.

  “Stay at my back,” he told me and, upon seeing my look of apprehension, added, “I know the way better than you. I can guide you down.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, though I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me. I could feel it in the taut muscles of his shoulders and back as I rested my hands against them and began to follow him downward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  If I had thought the castle was dark before, it was black as pitch now. It felt like we were descending into an abyss, into a chasm of nothingness, and soon the stairs and walls and everything solid around us would drop away, tumbling us into the void. My hand fisted in the silken material of Will’s waistcoat, anxious that at least he remain with me.

  The rain drummed against the stone with soft thuds, picking up speed as we slowly inched our way downward. The damp intensified the stench of mold and mildew until it was almost cloying in its intensity, as if the walls themselves were nothing but slime and moss. I avoided touching them as before, grateful for Will’s solid back at my front. The gust of the wind across my shoulders blown down the stairwell from above made me shiver and squirm, worried some large insect had crawled across me.

  A step or two before the first landing, where the opening to the fourth-floor chamber yawned to our left, providing us with a little light, a faint howl rent the night air and made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I wasn’t certain the sound had been real, and not some trick of my mind, except that Will had also stumbled to a stop, his spine bristling in much the same manner. It sounded like a dog, perhaps some kind of hound, but before I could contemplate it further, the shuffle of feet in the darkness of the staircase beyond the landing alerted us to the presence of someone else. Apparently that person had been surprised by the noise as well. And given us just enough warning to stop Will from stepping onto the landing and into the dim light cast by the chamber window.

  I gripped Will’s waistcoat even tighter and he reached back to wrap a hand around my hip, urging me to move toward the curving inner wall of the spiral staircase. I followed his guidance, careful not to make a sound as I did. Although my heart pounded so loudly in my ears I began to worry the intruder would hear it.

  I had three guesses as to who stood in the darkness below us—Donovan, Dr. Sloane, or Constable Paxton. Of the three, Mr. Paxton would be preferable. But I had a sinking suspicion it was not the blustering lawman, and neither of the other two meant anything good for Will and me. I wondered again where Mac had gone and then closed my eyes in dread. If someone was standing seven feet away, waiting to ambush us, then it was likely he had already taken care of Mac.

  I gritted my teeth, furious at myself for getting into another situation like this and not having a weapon of some kind tucked away on my person. When I had been threatened at Gairloch, I had sworn if I survived I would get a pistol to carry with me. Philip had promised to help me choose the right-sized gun and teach me to fire it when we reached Edinburgh. Unfortunately I had yet to make it there. And so here I found myself, again empty-handed, facing an assailant who I was certain had not come so ill prepared.

  Will’s gaunt body was pressed up against mine. I didn’t think he was carrying a weapon either. So that left us with only our brains, and hopefully some element of surprise.

  Time stretched, each of us waiting for the other to move. I had no idea if the person beyond knew we were there, or still believed us to be above on the roof. I suspected it was the latter; otherwise there would have been no reason for his continued silence. Clearly if he’d heard us pause here, he knew we were aware of his presence.

  I shivered, growing colder and colder by the second, from the drop in temperature and the perpetual draft from above and the fear crowding out my other senses. Will’s back was stiff against my hand and I could feel him tremble slightly. Our assailant was going to have to do something soon, or I worried Will was going to collapse.

  Finally the man shifted again. The crackle of dirt on the stair below him seemed to echo throughout the space after all the tense silence. He shuffled his feet one more time and then seemed to come to a decision. He took one cautious step up onto the landing and then another, steadily crossing the distance toward us.

  I felt Will’s muscles tense, knowing he was going to spring at the man, and I prayed to God the assailant was not expecting it and did not have a weapon drawn.

  The attacker was large. I could see that in the faint light, but not much else. It must be Donovan, I decided, and I cringed at the memory of the man’s bulging biceps. Will didn’t have a chance of defeating him.

  But there was no choice now. He was almost upon us. And in the next breath, Will leaped forward into him, knocking him to the ground.

  I didn’t stop to see what happened next, but darted into the chamber, knowing I had to find some way to help Will. Diving into the fray would do no good. I needed a weapon, something to hit Donovan with.

  Several steps into the room I found it as I bashed my shin against something, tripped, and went sprawling with a muffled yowl of pain. I sucked in a harsh breath and rolled to the side, reaching down to cradle my leg. I could feel a knot forming, but I didn’t think it was broken. And, in any case, I didn’t have time to worry about it. I could hear a series of punches and smacks coming from the doorway, along with grunts and groans.

  I patted around the gritty floor near my feet and found the chunk of stone that had toppled me. It was half the size of my head and just small enough that I could lift it without wrenching my shoulder. I pushed to my feet and hefted the stone. Stumbling just once from the pain in my leg, I crossed the room toward the men.

  I could see very little, but I could tell that Donovan’s bulkier form was straddling Will’s. He landed one punch to the face and then another. I raised the stone above my shoulders and brought it crashing down on Donovan’s head. It connected with a satisfying thunk, the impact ricocheting into my hands.

  Donovan toppled like a felled tree. I lowered the stone to the floor and knelt to help push his body off Will, panting from the effort. Whether Donovan was dead or simply unconscious, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care to check. All that mattered to me at the moment was getting Will and myself out of there.

  Will’s breath wheezed in and out of him, and I reached up to cradle his head, feeling a wetness that must be his blood smear my hands.

  “Will,�
� I gasped. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m alive,” he mumbled in a funny voice, and I realized Donovan must have broken his nose.

  “Can you move?” I asked him, trying unsuccessfully to keep my distress from showing. It made my voice shake.

  He groaned. “Help me up.”

  I looped my arm under his and around his back and hoisted him to his feet. Once standing, he pressed his hand to the wall to steady himself and took several deep breaths. “All right,” he murmured, removing my arm from around him. “Let’s go.”

  We resumed our descent, with Will once again in front and me at his back. Though, this time, I kept both hands securely fastened around the sides of his torso, to stop him should he begin to topple forward. I couldn’t gauge how severe his injuries were in the darkness, so I had no idea what he was dealing with in the way of pain and disorientation, but it didn’t appear to be too debilitating, for his pace picked up the farther we descended.

  I supposed the element of surprise was gone should there be anyone else farther down waiting to jump us. They would have undoubtedly heard Will and Donovan’s scuffle. I could only hope that Donovan had been acting alone.

  But I discovered how wrong I was only moments later when on the third-floor landing a man stepped out of the darkness and into the dim light, pointing a pistol at us. He was tall and slim, and from the way Will reacted, becoming rigid as a board, I knew this must be Dr. Sloane. The light was too faint. I couldn’t see his face. But I had no trouble imagining the nasty smile curling it.

  “William,” he proclaimed in an oily, cultured voice. “So good to see you. It’s been some time.”

  Will didn’t respond, just continued to stare at the man. I could feel his heart pounding against my fingertips where they were pressed to his chest.

  “I see you’ve overcome Donovan. I must say, I’m reluctantly impressed. But, then again, you always were a fighter.” The malicious tone of his voice made it clear that this wasn’t a compliment. It made my skin prickle with disgust.

  I wished I had something to hurl at him. Like the rock I’d dropped on Donovan’s head. If only I’d thought to bring it with me. But, of course, it was far too large for me to throw.

  I couldn’t see his eyes, but even so, I knew they had shifted, gazing at me where I peered around Will’s shoulder. It felt like the slimy skin of an eel slithering over me.

  “And this must be the illustrious Lady Darby. I’ve been anxious to meet you.”

  Those words coaxed the first reaction from Will since Sloane had stepped into our path. He reached back and fisted his hands in my cloak to pull me tighter against his back, shielding me with his body when I would have stepped to his side to face Sloane directly. I didn’t resist him, at the same time grateful to him for placing himself between me and Sloane and concerned about what that meant.

  “I can’t say I feel the same,” I retorted, knowing the best way to keep Sloane from firing his gun was to keep him talking.

  Sloane chuckled, a gravelly sound that grated on my nerves. “No, I suppose not. But not to worry, we’ll have plenty of time to change your mind.”

  Will and I stiffened as one.

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Will told him.

  Sloane almost seemed surprised he’d spoken. “Of course she is.” In the hazy light I could see him tilt his head. “Oh, were you hoping I’d come to take you back?” he crooned in mock sympathy.

  Will reared back, bumping my forehead with the back of his head.

  “I’m sorry, William. But I’m afraid you’ve worn out your usefulness. Especially since the authorities suspect you in Mary Wallace’s death.” He tsked. “I simply cannot have that kind of notoriety associated with my asylum, you understand.”

  “What did you do to her?” Will asked. “I know you kidnapped her. Just like Meg.”

  Sloane’s voice became harder, less sardonically polite. “Yes. Meg. Did you tell Lady Darby how you killed her?”

  Will didn’t answer, and I couldn’t bear for the man to derive any pleasure out of thinking he’d broken the news for him. “I know.”

  “Really?” he declared in curiosity, drawing out the word. “Well, Lady Darby, you are proving to be interesting.”

  “What did you do to Mary?” Will demanded with more force this time.

  “Temper, temper, William,” Sloane snapped. He raised the pistol in his hand higher, pointing it straight at Will’s chest. “She proved to be too weak. Couldn’t handle the days locked away.”

  “In the pit?”

  My heart stuttered just at the phrase.

  Sloane shrugged. “Her heart must have given out. Some people aren’t able to bear the absence of light.”

  Will’s voice rose in anger. “And sound and heat and food and fresh air.”

  “Ah, yes. I forgot you’re intimately familiar with it.”

  I remembered then what Miss Wallace’s maid had told us about the nightmares she began having shortly before she disappeared. How she’d babbled about the cold and the dark. And how Kady had worried Mary had foreseen her death. I had found the idea horrifying before, but now—knowing she’d been locked in “the pit”—I couldn’t fathom it.

  Dr. Sloane was a fiend and I told him so. “You’re not conducting medical research. You’re torturing these people! You’re nothing but a monster.”

  “And your husband truly needed to dissect all of those bodies to write his anatomy textbook?” he calmly retorted.

  I recoiled, pulling away from Will, but he gripped me tighter.

  “Sometimes advances in medicine require a measure of suffering. Particularly if the brain, the body is ever to be fully understood.”

  “My husband may have been no saint, but at least his test subjects were dead before he tortured them. Their souls were gone, their bodies merely husks. They couldn’t feel any more pain. You have no excuse. You drove your own daughter to suicide.”

  Dr. Sloane reared back, and I felt the full force of his anger for the first time emanating across the distance between us. His voice snapped like an icy whip. “My daughter was mad, and completely bent on destruction. I tried to find a cure for her, I tried to bring her to heel, but she resisted all my methods. And when I relented, out of pity, she killed her mother while in the grips of a manic rage, and then killed herself.”

  I stiffened in shock at his words, and he seemed to sense it.

  “Oh, yes. Didn’t know that, did you? She killed more than just herself. But if I’d continued my tests, if I’d kept her far from her mother, at least my wife would still be alive today.”

  The click of the pistol cocking jolted down my spine and I gripped Will tighter.

  “I’m not going to allow sympathy to get in the way of my research again,” Sloane continued in a more even tone, though his voice was still as sharp as a knife. “The families who refuse to hand over their loved ones with afflictions of the brain are fools who must be saved from their own folly, before their unfortunate relatives harm themselves or others. And I’m afraid you’re one of those unfortunates, Lady Darby.”

  An icy band of fear wrapped around my chest, holding me immobile.

  “Now,” he continued in the same silky tone he’d used when he first stepped out of the shadows, “I’m done wasting my time. We have a little boat trip to make across the firth this evening, though I fear the rain will hinder our journey somewhat.”

  “She’s not going with you,” Will told him, hugging me even closer to his back. I didn’t struggle against him—I was too terrified—but I did worry. With his hands behind him and his body shielding mine, he was defenseless.

  “Of course she is,” Sloane said, his tone brisk. “With any luck, my oarsmen already have the boat pulled to shore below. We’ll be gone before the blood even stops pumping from your body.”

  I tensed and shoved against Will, t
rying to get him to move, just as Dr. Sloane’s pistol fired, a percussive burst of light in the darkness. Will jerked backward into me, slamming me into the wall at my back. I felt a spray of liquid splatter my cheek. My knees gave out beneath me and I dropped to the floor with Will on top of me.

  The acrid stench of gunpowder lingered in the air. Dazed, I pushed Will to the side and tried to feel where the bullet had struck him. But Sloane grabbed my arm and dragged me out from underneath him. He tried to force me to my feet, but I fought against him, screaming for Will. In the darkness, it was hard to tell, but I thought he moved. Was he alive?

  Sloane struck me across the temple with the gun, knocking me to my knees. Pain exploded in my head, sharp and blinding. I couldn’t fight it.

  I felt myself being lifted by an arm around my waist and shuffled forward a few steps. Then, from behind me, I heard Will’s voice.

  “I said . . . she’s not going with you.”

  Sloane turned and dropped me to the floor just as Will seized hold of him and flung him away from me.

  “Run,” he ordered me before kicking Sloane where he lay crumpled on the floor just inside the third-floor chamber.

  I lurched to my feet and steadied myself against the cold wall, trying to shake away the cobwebs from my mind. “Run!” I heard Will shout again, but I couldn’t leave him. He was bloodied and bruised from his fight with Donovan, and now he’d been shot. If I didn’t help him, he would surely die.

  He groaned in pain as Sloane struck back, and I staggered toward the doorway. That was when an arm grabbed me from behind.

  How I’d missed the sound of feet running up the stairs, I didn’t know, but I struggled against the man’s grip.

  “Kiera, it’s me,” Gage’s familiar voice shouted in my ear.

  I nearly collapsed in relief.

  “Come. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “No,” I protested, pushing away from his chest. I could still hear the thwacks and thumps of men fighting in the chamber beyond. “We have to help Will. He’s been shot.”