Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  “Where is your husband?” Colin asked. “Not here, I'll wager. Wasn't he tending the lambs today? So who are you hiding in your bedroom?”

  “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Farrell shrieked. “You have no right. How dare you accuse me, adulterer?”

  Got you. “I'm a faithful, married man, my dear. Who are you committing adultery with, and how dare you accuse me?”

  “Your marriage is in vain. It's false.”

  Colin shook his head. “The laws of England disagree.”

  In his peripheral vision, Colin could see the bedroom door ease open a crack. There is someone else in here. It's not merely her madness. What can this mean?

  “There are higher laws.”

  “Which are not binding in this land,” he pointed out. “Nor do they apply to my marriage. I have committed no crime, my wife has committed no crime, yet you accuse and threaten. You are the guilty one. You have assaulted us both.”

  “If the Lord chooses to punish you, that's your problem.”

  “I don't think the Lord has much to do with it,” Colin said, letting the arrogance of his station creep into his tone. “Overall, our marriage is blessed. It's done nothing but good for us and the other tenants. You are the only one who seems to have a problem. I suggest you take it up with God and leave us in peace.”

  The bedroom door flew open, smashing against the opposite wall, and in one movement, a large white rock flew at Colin's head. He tried to dodge, but he couldn't move fast enough. It clipped his temple. For a moment, he swayed on his feet, and then he crumpled to the floor. Another rock flew at him, and in his prone, stunned state, he couldn't avoid it. It hit him hard on the hip, leaving an aching injury that would become a colorful bruise later. He covered his head and neck with both hands.

  “Stop that,” he barked. “What are you doing?”

  A maniacal laugh responded to his demand, and a chill ran through Colin's body.

  Mad is right, but who? He dared to peek at the doorway of the Farrells' bedroom and his jaw dropped in shock. “You?”

  * * *

  For another long moment, Daisy lay on the bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Where did Colin go? Did he really leave me alone, knowing someone had been in the house? What if they're still here?

  “I'll get the dogs,” she told herself. “They don't exactly know me yet, though. How do I make friends quickly with a set of mastiffs?”

  The answer presented itself quickly in a memory of some sausages she had hanging in the pantry. Getting to her feet proved problematic. She still felt shaken and didn't quite know how to overcome it.

  An unfamiliar sound rocketed her to her feet a moment later. Her heart thumped and commenced to pounding painfully.

  “What is that?” she hissed aloud, taking a couple of steps across the room and leaning in beside the bureau. The sound, a kind of heavy scratching, reached her ears again, this time accompanied by a pleading whine. “The dogs. Oh, Lord. It's just Beauty and Henry wanting to come in.”

  She moved to leave the bedroom when her eyes fell on the note again. She squinted. The first two scripture references had been writing in a bold, back-slanting hand. Left-handed, she thought to herself. The third, the one that accused witchcraft… “It's different,” she breathed. It looked as though someone with smaller, more controlled handwriting had tried to imitate the first, using their right hand.

  Daisy bit her lip. “There are two of them,” she breathed. “One is completely mad, with out-of-control handwriting. He's worried about adultery and obedience. The second… the second is obsessed with witches.”

  Realization dawned. “No wonder Colin bolted. He saw that last and knew that only one person hates and fears witches enough to do such damage. But did he notice that there are two? I need to warn him. I need help.”

  The dogs scratched again and Daisy, a plan half-forming in her mind, collected them by simply grabbing the sausages on her way through the kitchen and meeting them at the back door.

  The two large, frowning dogs accepted the treats with painful dignity, butting her hands with their heads. “You're a friendly pair,” she complimented them. “Come along, good dogs. Let us go and find some help.”

  Not wanting to take the time to find and affix their leashes, she simply walked toward the field, hoping they would follow.

  They did.

  Daisy could see several men standing among the flock of summer lambs, inspecting them, and sneaking in the occasional pat.

  “Mr. Bullock,” she called loudly, pitching her voice high to carry though a light summer wind. “Mr. Farrell. I need you both!”

  The men hustled over to Daisy.

  “What do you need, my lady?”

  She took a deep breath, resting her hand on Henry's head. “The rock hurler, the horse butcherer has been inside our home. Colin chased after him, and I'm afraid, because I think there are two of them, and I don't think he realizes it.”

  “Do you know where he went?” Bullock demanded, scrutinizing Daisy with a worried expression on his face.

  She nodded. “I'm afraid they went to Mr. Farrell's house.”

  Farrell's head shot in her direction. “My house? Why is he at my house?”

  Daisy bit her lip, the panicked need for urgency warring with trying to choose the right words. “We have reason to think this individual went there,” she said. “Gentlemen, please. Come. I'm sure Lord Gelroy needs help.”

  Not waiting to see if they followed, she set her sights on the second tenant house and hurried that way, whistling for the dogs in a less-than-ladylike command.

  They galumphed after her. Swishing in the grass of the meadow, the two men hurried her direction, quickly catching up.

  * * *

  More rocks pelted Colin, never giving him the chance to get up. “Why?” he demanded, sheltering his head with his arms as best he could.

  “It is the penalty for adultery. Even King David is not above the law.”

  “David?”

  Mrs. Farrell cackled. “The Lord has chosen us to replay his drama, here in England. Our country is weak and in need of revival. That is why he has brought his messenger to us.”

  Another large rock slammed down onto Colin's shoulder.

  “He's not a heavenly messenger. He's just a small-town vicar who has lost his mind. Mrs. Farrell, he's tricking you.”

  “Liar!” the man screamed, pelting Colin with a shower of pebbles. “Lair! Cheat! Adulterer.”

  “Old man,” Colin barked in his most authoritative voice, “you know I'm no adulterer. You married Daisy and me yourself.”

  The bombardment paused, and Colin used the opportunity to haul himself to his feet and duck behind the Farrells' dining table. It offered scant protection from the blows, but scant protection was better than none. He crouched down, wildly scanning the room for something better.

  “It was a sin!” Vicar Williams shouted. “She belonged to another. Her father chose her a husband, and she wedded and bedded you instead. You had no right to interfere!”

  “I didn't,” Colin said dryly. “That idiot was not married to her, and she despises him. She's also legally of age to refuse a marriage that doesn't suit her. Instead of accepting her choice, they plotted to trap her using assault. You played right into their hands. I believe the Lord intervened by having me close enough to save her. No adultery took place because she was not married to him and she never would have been.”

  The vicar paused, his puffy, white hair seeming to vibrate with a combination of righteous indignation and confusion. “The father has the right to select a husband for his daughter. They were betrothed by the will of the groom and the bride's father. Betrothals are binding, and your interference constitutes adultery.”

  Colin shook his head. This man has lost his mind. “That may have been true in ancient Israel, but here in England, the bride has a say, and she said no to the marriage her father arranged and yes to me. There was no betrothal, so there was no adultery.”


  “But she's a witch!” Mrs. Farrell screamed. She picked up a rock and hurled it at Colin, but in her rage, she missed, and the melon-sized white stone flew through the window, shattering the glass.

  “She's a good, Christian woman,” Colin insisted. “She's a faithful wife, and she's generously donated her inheritance to help us. You have no right to accuse her. Stand down, Mrs. Farrell.”

  In response, she threw another rock, and from her angle, she was able to toss it around the table and hit Colin in the knee. He sidled away, still scanning for a route to either an exit or a useful weapon.

  Silver flashed, and Colin could see a hefty kitchen knife in her hand.

  Vicar Williams stood between him and the door, and Mrs. Farrell, to his right, had him pinned. If he ran for the rear exit, she would be on him, too close to miss.

  Making a wild dodge, Colin ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a heavy, iron pan from the stove. Not much of a shield, but better than nothing.

  In the second his attention shifted, one rock and then another flew in his direction. One missed, clattering against the metal of the stove. The other, he deflected with the pan. Sensing movement in his peripheral vision, he whirled to face Mrs. Farrell, who had rushed him with her knife.

  He swatted at it with the frying pan, keeping the sharp end away from his flesh. That is until something heavy struck his shoulder.

  His arm tingled and his hand threatened to release the pan.

  “We have the sinner now!” Vicar Williams screamed. “May God have mercy on your soul!”

  * * *

  As Daisy and the two tenants approached the Farrells' house, indistinct shouting reached them. Two male voices contended vigorously while a woman screamed in anger. Glass shattered, and a white rock flew through the window, bouncing on the ground and rolling away.

  “Oh, good lord,” Daisy breathed. Without thinking of her own safety, she darted for the door, wrenching it open.

  The scene inside stole her breath. Colin stood, clutching a saucepan, which he jabbed at Mrs. Farrell. The woman stabbed at him with a kitchen knife.

  More rocks flew through the air, and one hit Colin, nearly disarming him.

  Thinking of nothing but helping her husband, Daisy grabbed wildly at a stone that lay near the door. She hurled it with all her strength.

  The rock flew straight and true, hitting… Is that the vicar? What on earth? Blinking, Daisy watched the projectile connect solidly with the side of the man's head. He dropped something from his hand and clutched his temple.

  “Don't like it, do you,” she screamed, hunting for another and throwing it again. This time, the rock slammed into the vicar's nose and blood sprayed, just as Bullock and Farrell strode into the room, Beauty and Henry panting at their heels.

  Bullock paused to stare at the scene for a single heartbeat, before ordering the dogs with a pointed finger and a whistle.

  Unprepared, confused, Mrs. Farrell paused in her attack to blink at the galloping, pony-sized beasts barreling at her.

  Colin took the opportunity to swing the frying pan, connecting solidly with her wrist. The knife clattered to the floor, and a moment later, she joined it, with a monstrous dog crouching on her chest.

  Drool dribbled onto her neck and chin. She shrieked in wordless rage, trying to dislodge the animal. He growled in warning, and she subsided.

  Beauty, meanwhile, approached the vicar, eyeing him in canine curiosity.

  “What is going on here?” Farrell demanded. “Mary, what are you doing? Who is this?”

  Colin set his weapon back on the stove and embraced his wife. Daisy could feel him trembling. “He's the vicar who married us,” she said. “He must have lost his senses.”

  “So it would seem.” Bullock grabbed the man, wrenching his arms up behind his back. Blood dripped onto the floor.

  Meanwhile, Farrell approached his wife, shooed the dog away from her and lifted her to her feet, pinning her to his chest with both arms.

  She wriggled. “Let me go.”

  “Not a chance. Have you gone mad? Why would you attack Lord Gelroy? He's our… our friend.”

  Daisy saw Colin's throat work in a rough, dry-looking swallow.

  Tears stung her own eyes. It might be considered unseemly by some, but after they suffered so much together, what else could anyone say?

  “He's a sinner. He married a witch.”

  Farrell shook his head. “Lady Gelroy is no witch, and your obsession, Mary, has gotten out of hand. This stops now.”

  “You cannot stop me!” she screamed. “I am a vessel of the Lord and his messenger.”

  Farrell's nostrils flared.

  Daisy could feel Colin tense in her arms.

  And no wonder. What is she admitting?

  “He's no messenger of the Lord,” Colin said darkly. “He's a madman. He doesn't even know where he is.” He shook his head.

  “What do we do now, my lord?” Bullock asked.

  Colin sighed. For a moment, his arms tightened around Daisy. Then he straightened to his full height, looking for once every inch the nobleman. “I would say we turn them over to the authorities. They can spend some time in gaol for their assaults on innocent citizens. They might even be transported. However, it would seem that both have lost their wits. It would be best to summon a doctor and have them both committed to an asylum, where they can do no further harm.”

  Farrell made an inarticulate sound.

  “Sorry, man,” Colin said, taking several unsteady steps across the room. “At this point, she's a danger to everyone. She needs treatment.”

  “What's happening?” Jones burst into the room, panting, hand on his chest.

  “Ah, excellent timing,” Colin said. He remained in his power position, though he looked stiff and sounded strained. “Please hurry to town and bring back the sheriff. We're going to need some assistance.”

  “Right away, sir!” The youth bounded out the door again.

  Colin wavered, and Daisy tightened her grip on his waist.

  “You should sit down, my lord,” Bullock suggested.

  “He should burn in hell,” Vicar Williams shrieked. With blood pouring from his nose, he looked deranged.

  “That's quite enough out of you.” Releasing Colin to sink into a chair, Daisy scooped up a rock from the floor and showed it to the man. “Shall I try again to convince you to mind your own business?”

  “God will judge you,” he muttered darkly.

  “I agree,” she said, “as it's his job. He may judge me as he will. You, however, have no such right. Now pipe down.”

  He snapped his mouth shut and scowled ferociously at the floor.

  Bullock stepped toward the man with a pinched frown on his face. His expression, normally mild, turned ferocious. It seemed to speak of all they had worked so hard to build being threatened with this act against their leader.

  Colin pulled Daisy into his lap, ignoring discretion, and rested his forehead on her upper chest.

  She stroked his hair. “It's all right, love,” she breathed. “It's all right. We got them. We're safe. It's all right.”

  Colin took a deep breath, drawing Daisy's essence into his lungs, into his soul. He exhaled pain, shame, and fear, and the stress he'd been carrying so long. As it fell away, he felt almost giddy, despite his bruises. For the first time in as long as he could remember, a sensation awakened in his heart. Nurtured by Daisy's love, the spark grew in strength and brightness until he finally recognized it.

  Hope.

  Chapter 14

  A cheery fire crackled on the hearth, warming a room she had never entered before in a home she had never seen.

  She shivered against the bite of autumn that slipped under the door into the garden. Summer has ended. The lambs and geese have gone to market. The estate is flush with funds and supplies to weather the winter. The tenant houses are repaired, expanded and warmly decorated. Now, we must turn our attention to a more pressing problem, Daisy thought, eyeing the three men who sat in
leather armchairs perched at the four corners of a glorious red rug that beautifully complemented the warm wood of the floor. Her spot in the fourth chair felt strangely isolated, though her husband was only a short reach away.

  “This is most irregular,” the Right Reverend Cary said, examining each face in turn. He raked his fingers through his sparse, steel-gray hair. “I did as you asked, James.” Here, he turned toward his nephew, who Daisy had learned was one of Colin's oldest friends. The younger man resembled his uncle: round-faced and handsome but with eyes that promised an unexpected strength. “I found no record whatsoever of the wedding having taken place. There is nothing in the civil registry, nor the records of your parish, Lady Gelroy.”

  Daisy inhaled sharply through her nose. “Oh, dear.”

  “I did ask some questions, however,” the bishop added. “In fact, I had intended to stop by and check in on Reverend Williams after receiving several concerned messages throughout the summer about missed church services and erratic behavior. I learned that Reverend Williams's wife, Bertha, passed away in April. It seems he took her death so hard, it… it drove him mad.”

  “He was mad already,” Daisy pointed out. “I always wondered about him, but his wife kept him on such a short leash, he didn't have a chance to act up. I'm not surprised he went berserk after her death.”

  “It would seem so,” Colin agreed. “Last I heard, he was admitted to an asylum near his hometown. He is not expected to recover.” He squeezed Daisy's hand.

  “And Mrs. Farrell?” Daisy asked.

  “She has been a bit daft for most of her life, as you know. It would seem that she met the mad vicar when he came to throw rocks at us from the woods. Their madness aligned in a way that made them worse together than either would have been alone. She's not likely to leave the asylum either. I fear we'll lose Farrell, as he's likely to want to remain close to his wife.”

  Daisy lowered her eyelids.

  “But the vicar's mental break leaves us with a practical problem. When he attacked us last month, it occurred to me that… that we didn't know when he lost his wits… if it was before or after he… well, he…”