Mad About the Earl

by Christina Brooke

  She put a shaking hand up to her hair. “There was a place. A sort of cave on the cliff.” She glanced at Rosamund. “Near where I showed you that day, Rosie. I used to go there alone to think.”

  She drew a deep breath, and finally, Maddox put his hand over hers and squeezed it.

  “I was heading there one evening. H-he followed me and caught me on the top of the cliff, and told me he was going to … rape me. That would teach my brother, he said.” She blinked rapidly. “And I fought him, tooth and nail. Oh, I was in a frenzy, as you can imagine! So furious at myself for never having the courage to fight back before.”

  Maddox frowned. “Where was Griffin?”

  “He wasn’t there. Somehow, in the struggle, Allbright lost his footing and lost his grip on me. I did not even look to see what had happened to him. I just ran.”

  Maddox squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them and dragged in a breath. “And you told Griffin, who searched for him and found him at the bottom of the cliff.”

  Jacqueline nodded. “He has been protecting me all this time. He took the brunt of the gossip and shame. Our indoor servants deserted us. The neighbors reviled him. Only you and the vicar stood by us, Tony.”

  She made a valiant attempt to smile. Tentatively, she turned her hand in his to grip his fingers. He returned her clasp.

  She looked up at him in wonder. “You are not angry with me? Allbright was your cousin. I thought—”

  “Angry with you?” He shook his head. “God! No, darling. I’m livid with him and with myself for recommending him to you. If I’d had the least suspicion, I’d never have suggested it.”

  “Griffin forbade me to tell you. I think he wanted to believe you’d stand by us, but he was so very hurt at the reaction of everyone around us, I don’t think he knew whom to trust. Allbright was so personable and charming. He had them all wrapped around his little finger.”

  Slowly, Rosamund said, “So all this time, Griffin has been content to let suspicion rest on him to deflect attention from you.”

  “Yes, and it has been killing me! But he would not let me put it right. The feeling against our family was so strong because of our grandfather’s harshness, you see, that he was afraid of the outcome if I confessed. He was taken in for questioning, but there was no evidence he’d been anywhere near the cliff that night. It was only hearsay that Griffin had threatened Allbright’s life. No one actually heard Griffin make those threats. The coroner found that the death was accidental, and it has been some time since anyone has questioned Griffin over it. But something has occurred lately to put him on edge again. I am sure of it.”

  Maddox straightened. “There was a rumor in the village of a witness. Good God, Jacqueline, if there was, he might be able to clear your name. What you have described was not murder, I am sure of it. The man was trying to rape you, and all you did was defend yourself. You did not even push him.”

  “But to a witness, it might have looked as if I did,” said Jacqueline. “And why come forward now? Besides, it is all rumor and conjecture. Whoever this witness is, he has not even made an official statement to the local justice of the peace. I think it is some idle, malicious person trying to hoax us.”

  Rosamund clutched the arm of her chair in alarm. “Do you think Griffin has discovered the nature of this witness’s testimony? Do you think he is going to do something rash?”

  “What, confess, you mean?” Maddox shook his head. “He’d be a fool to do that. If it were me, I’d wait until I knew Jacks was to be arrested for murder. I’d try every possible alternative before that.”

  Letting out a long breath, Rosamund said, “We must go down there. There is not a moment to lose! Or, no, Jacqueline, perhaps you ought to stay here. I shall send you to Montford House and—”

  “You will not send me away this time,” said Jacqueline with that stubborn set to her chin Rosamund knew only too well. “Besides, Tony will protect me, won’t you, Tony? If things get hairy, we can escape justice on the next smugglers’ boat to France.”

  Jacqueline’s pathetic attempt at humor could not raise a smile from anyone.

  “Smugglers?” said Rosamund. “Are there smugglers operating in the bay?”

  “Oh, yes. It is rife in that area, led by a man named Crane,” said Maddox. “Before the war, such practices were tolerated, even condoned. It is a different matter now, with information traveling those same channels and into the hands of the enemy. But Crane and his bullies intimidate the populace. No one will inform against them for fear of retribution. Even the local justice of the peace turns a blind eye.”

  Rosamund said, “Might it be one of the smugglers who saw what happened between you and Allbright, Jacqueline?”

  “It was dusk. A little early for them, I should say. But I don’t know. It’s possible.”

  Rosamund stood, shaking out her skirts. “I’m afraid, my dears, your wedding must wait. I need to make arrangements for the journey. You will escort us, Mr. Maddox?”

  He bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

  As she hurried from the room, she heard him say, “And now for that proposal, my love…”

  Tired and anxious though she was, Rosamund gave a weary smile.

  She did not even reach the stairs before she heard Maddox’s distressed shout.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The breeze whipped off the ocean in cold gusts, and dark clouds blanketed the moon. A perfect night for smugglers to shift their cargo. Or so Griffin hoped.

  He and Oliphant lay prone in a natural hollow in the cliff face, the perfect vantage point from which to spy illicit doings on the beach below. Each of them had a shotgun and two pistols. More men were stationed about the area. The vicar had been instrumental in rallying their neighbors to the cause. Since the justice of the peace would not intervene in the smugglers’ nefarious activities, the people of Pendon would.

  And Griffin would thereby be rid of Crane and his malicious blackmail forever.

  “What if Crane isn’t there?” said the vicar softly.

  “Then we come back again and again until he is. I don’t want the decent lads he’s led astray, nor do I want the small fish. He’s the one. Everyone knows it. And I’m going to take him.”

  The wait was a long one, but eventually, Griffin sighted movement. A large, dark figure led a trail of pack ponies slowly, quietly down the winding path along the cliff face. If Griffin had not possessed field glasses as well as excellent night vision, he might have missed them.

  “Let’s move.”

  He and Oliphant picked their way silently down the rocky cliff.

  Wet sand sucked at Griffin’s boots as he finished the descent. The sea spray whipped into his face. He heard nothing above the low roar of the ocean, but he knew the direction the ponies were headed.

  There was a cave on that side of the cliff, where he and Jacks and Timothy used to play.

  The sole of his boot crunched on something—shells?

  The next instant, a bird called. But it was not a bird, of course. It was a sentry.

  “Damn,” muttered Griffin.

  A shot rang out from the direction of the cave.

  “Come on!” he said to Oliphant. He whistled up his own signal, calling his men to action.

  Shapes rose out of the gloom, coming at them from the direction of the cave.

  His own men and Crane’s clashed together on the beach like two opposing tides. Griffin needed to get to that cave on the other side of the cove. For that, he had to get past Crane’s henchmen, but there was no way he could fire a shot in this melee. He didn’t want to kill anyone, particularly his own men. He threw down his rifle and joined the fray.

  They fought on wet, uneven sand in near silence. Only the ocean’s roar and the grunts and cries of men as they attacked and fell could be heard.

  Using his brute strength to his advantage, Griffin milled his way through the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement by the cave. In an instant, he registered that someone had used t
he cover of fighting to pack the ponies and escape.

  Crane. It was exactly the kind of thing the blackguard would do.

  Griffin yelled to Oliphant, then went after the ringleader, drawing the pistol from his pocket and releasing the hammer as he went.

  As he drew closer, his suspicions were confirmed. He couldn’t see well in the darkness, but he would know that hulking form anywhere. It was, indeed, the tormentor of his youth.

  Griffin firmed his grip on his pistol. He didn’t want to shoot Crane, but if Crane left him no choice …

  Silently, he moved up the path toward Crane. The man was not alone. A woman struggled along beside him.

  Bessie, from the inn. What was she doing there?

  As Griffin hesitated in surprise, Crane swung around, shining his shuttered lantern directly into Griffin’s eyes.

  Blinded by the sudden flash of light, Griffin dropped to the ground and rolled to the side. At the same time, a pistol barked, missing him by inches, judging from the shower of rock splinters that fell on his head.

  Before another shot fired, Griffin picked up a large rock and hurled it in Crane’s direction. The second shot went wild.

  Two shots. He gambled on Crane carrying only two pistols, maybe a knife.

  He rose to a crouch, then launched himself at the bastard. Together, they fell off the path and went tumbling down onto the sand.

  Crane came down on him with an elbow to the gut. The impact winded Griffin, but he drove through the pain, wrapped his hands around Crane’s throat.

  Then he saw the knife bearing down. He caught Crane’s wrist with one hand, struggling to hold the knife at bay while simultaneously attempting to crush his enemy’s windpipe with the other hand.

  “Thought you didn’t care about free trade,” panted Crane.

  “This is personal,” grunted Griffin. With a surge of strength, he bore Crane’s arm back, dashing the hand that held the knife against the rock.

  The knife fell from his splayed fingers.

  In a wrestling move, Griffin flipped Crane onto his back and punched him in the face. “You dare to threaten me with silly notes, and you think I’ll just sit there meekly? Did you think I’d let you blackmail me for the rest of my life?”

  Crane laughed silently, in spite of the bloody mess Griffin had made of his mouth. “I didn’t write you notes. Why should I? Say it to your face if I have something to say, don’t I?”

  Griffin hit him again. “Who’s the witness? The one who saw Allbright’s murder?”

  Crane’s chest, which had been shaking with mirth, stilled. “Witness,” he repeated. “No witness that I ever heard of. Someone pulling your leg.”

  “Liar.” Griffin hit him again. And again. And once more, for all those lashings Crane had so enjoyed giving him as a boy. Another time for the scars Crane left. On Griffin’s face and on his soul.

  But he found no enjoyment from meting out this punishment. That was the difference between them. They were both big men and powerful with it, but Griffin simply had not the heart for cold, systematic violence.

  Leering up at him, his face a bloody mask, Crane was defiant to the last. “Go on, then. Finish it,” he said thickly. “They’ll hang me anyway, won’t they?” Disgust laced his tone, even as his voice grew faint. “Ah, you don’t have the guts.”

  “You’re right,” said Griffin, getting to his feet. “I don’t have the stomach for this.”

  Crane didn’t move. For all his bravado, he must have been hovering on the edge of consciousness.

  Griffin looked around to see bodies littering the beach—most of them moving still, many groaning. And a number of his men walking slowly toward him, led by the vicar.

  Someone ran for the justice of the peace, who’d no doubt cowered in his house while all this went on without him. The constable was fetched to make the arrests and the contraband unloaded from the ponies and inspected.

  Griffin took one long, last look at his nemesis, shook his head, and started for the path where the docile ponies still stood, and Bessie with them.

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “No. But he will be hanged,” Griffin said. He took the reins and led the ponies behind him, not caring if she followed or not. Not caring much about anything.

  They walked in silence all the way back to the village. It occurred to Griffin that he didn’t know where the ponies belonged.

  “Where shall I take these?”

  “They belong at the inn,” said Bessie. She put her hand on his arm. “Come into the taproom, my lord.” She smiled up at him tremulously. “Drinks on the house.”

  He glanced toward the cheerful lights and sounds of the taproom and shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

  “Well, then.” She took the ponies’ reins from him and bobbed a shaky curtsy.

  He turned to go, but before he could, she caught her breath in a choking sob and grabbed his hand and kissed his broken, bloody knuckles. “Oh, my lord! Thank you! Oh, thank Heaven we are free.”

  “Free of Crane, you mean?”

  “Yes.” She was silent for a few moments. “My lord? Those notes,” she said in a low voice. “They were from me.”

  He halted and stared at her in the darkness. “From you?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, as if she could not truly believe she was safe from Crane now. “Your sister did not cause Allbright’s death. It was Crane.”

  “What?”

  She flinched at his tone. He cleared his throat and said more softly, “Crane killed Allbright? How can that be?”

  Bessie swallowed. “I—I saw your sister struggle with Mr. Allbright. I wanted to cry out, to put a stop to it, but I was with Crane and he wouldn’t let me. I was so thankful when Lady Jacqueline got away. She—she’d pushed Allbright and he staggered and wrenched his ankle, I think, and fell down. He struck his head and rolled a little way, but he was nowhere near the true edge of the cliff. And he was breathing, I know, because we went over to check on him. I said I’d run for a doctor.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know what made me do it. But I looked back to see Crane put his foot out and—and roll Mr. Allbright off the cliff with the toe of his boot.”

  She was sobbing now, but he took her by the shoulders, willing her to steady herself. “Do you mean to say Crane killed Allbright? And you knew this all along?”

  She raised stricken eyes to his. “I was so frightened! He said he’d kill me if I said anything to anyone. And he would have killed me, my lord. You know he would.”

  Yes, he knew it. He couldn’t blame her for keeping quiet, but what a nightmare! He could scarcely comprehend the enormity of what Crane had done, both to Jacqueline and to him. And to Bessie as well.

  “Will you be prepared to sign a statement to that effect?” said Griffin. “I will use it only if absolutely necessary, I swear. It is likely that it won’t be necessary. Crane is going to be hanged anyway, and without further evidence against me, I do not think this murder investigation will reopen.”

  “Yes,” she whispered; then in a stronger voice, she said, “Yes. I will do that, my lord.”

  A big hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Come for a pint!” said the vicar. “Or something stronger, eh?” He peered at Griffin’s companion. “You here, Bessie? Come along, come along, you have a horde of thirsty men about to descend on you, and it will be all hands on deck, I expect!”

  Somehow, Griffin was swept up with the crowd. He found himself crossing the threshold of the taproom before he could object.

  Bracing himself for the cold shoulders and dirty looks he always received when he came here, Griffin stuck his chin out and walked in.

  To be met by a deafening cheer.

  The news of their raid on the smugglers as well as his own bloody battle with Crane had traveled fast. The villagers’ hatred and fear of Crane and his men far surpassed their fear of the resident ogre, it seemed.

  Bewildered, Griffin received pats on the back and congrat
ulations from the same people who had looked at him askance before. Tankard after tankard of ale was pressed into his hands by men he knew and others he’d never even met or spoken with. Smiling faces met him everywhere.

  That night, in spite of his efforts to resist, the hard layer that resentment and anger had formed about his heart crumbled into dust.

  “Don’t let all the adulation get to your head,” recommended the vicar with a fond smile for his parishioners. “Tomorrow, they’ll be grumbling about the rents.”

  Griffin grinned and raised his tankard to his lips. Perhaps they would, at that.

  As he walked a trifle unsteadily back from the village, he felt disoriented, light-headed with drink—and with relief.

  Everything was going to be all right.

  For Jacqueline, at least.

  * * *

  “I cannot leave her.” Rosamund turned to Maddox, who hovered on the threshold of Jacqueline’s sickroom, a cheerful bunch of daisies in his hand.

  Jacqueline had no sooner received Maddox’s proposal than fainted in his arms. Certainly, a dramatic and memorable reaction to a gentleman’s addresses if Jacqueline had been at all romantically inclined. Unfortunately, her swoon had been no missish piece of amateur dramatics, but rather a total collapse.

  Rosamund took the flowers from Maddox and put them in the vase beside the bed where Jacqueline fitfully slept. She laid a finger to her lips and moved past him and out into the corridor.

  “The doctor says it is a fever. She must have complete bed rest.” Rosamund gripped her hands together. “He says the strain of the season has knocked her up, but I believe you and I know the cause.”

  She pursed her lips, feeling traitorous but so impatient to know what was happening in Cornwall that she felt as if she were permanently on the verge of screaming. “I cannot leave her. But perhaps you could post down to Cornwall, sir.”

  His concerned gaze slid to the open door of Jacqueline’s bedchamber. Then his lips twisted in a wry smile. “I am not the least use here, am I? Not until she is a little better and can perhaps sit up and play cards and the like.”